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On the Edge of a Moor 


By the Author of ‘‘‘ Probable Sons/ 


The Odd One* Profusely Illustrated. Small 4to, dec- 
orated cloth $1.00 

Another of the charming dhild stories by this now well-known 
writer. The title describes the characteristics, and prepares 
the reader for the experiences, of the little girl who is the hero- 
ine of the tale, which is a graceful and touching story, full of 
Gospel teaching. The bo(^ is furnished with wide-margined 
pages, which are decorated with numerous drawings in Miss 
Lathbury’s best style. 

A Thoughtless Seven* Profusely Illustrated. Small 

4to, decorated cloth .50 

A record of the doings of seven youngsters, brothers and sis- 
ters, who spend their summer vacation at the seashore. One of 
them becomes impressed with the idea that they should not 
waste their time so entirely, and endeavors to bring the others 
to her way of thinking. 

Teddy^s Button* Illustrated. Small 4to, decorated 
cloth 50 

“A captivating story. Teddy and Nancy win our hearts. 
Teddy’s brave fight with himself commands admiration, and 
stout-hearted, handsome Nancy, a real girl in all her doings, 
conquers the heart .” — The Christian Intellige 7 icer. 

Probable Sons*^^ Illustrated. 60th thousand. Small 


4to, decorated cloth, 50c.; lamo, cloth 35 

Paper 15 


“We do not know the author of this very touching tale. It 
is equal to ‘ Fishin’ Jimmy’ in its way, while as an illustration 
of the text, ‘ A little child shall lead them,’ it is the most irre- 
sistibly pathetic tale we remember to have seen. Among the 
brightest, most charming and irresistible of child-creations in 
our recent literatur#.”— 7"^^ Independent. 

Ericas Good News* Illustrated. i2mo, boards, .30 
A story of the iniuence which Eric, a little invalid boy, had 
upon the life of a world-worn young man with whom he be- 
came acquainted at a seaside resort. 

On the Edge of a Moor* Illustrated. lamo^ cloth, 1.00 

An interesting narrative of the means by which a city girl, 
living among a number of rough, untutored country people, be- 
came an influence for good to her entire neighborhood. 

Dwell Deep* Illustrated. i6mo, cloth 75 

“ A story of a girl who, being left without a home, went to 
live with her guardian, who had a number of children. Hilda 
Thorn was trying to be a Christian, and her associates were 
very worldly, which made it hard for her. It is an interesting 
story, with the reality of experience .” — The Religious Herald. 


Fleming; H* Revell Company 

New York: 112 Fifth Ave. Chicago: 63 Washington St. 

Toronto : 154 Yonge St. 



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MAN SPRANG OUT AND SEIZED HER BRIDLE.’’ — (Page 159.) 






On the Edge of a Moor 


By 

THE AUTHOR OF 


‘Probable Sons^’ “The Odd One,” “Dwell Deep,** 
etc. 


JL 




F 



' AUeB6U87) 




New York Chicago Toronto 

Fleming H. Revell Company 

TAe Religious Tract Society^ London 



^^3 






Copyright, 1897, by 
Fleming H. Revell Company 


Cast thy bread upon the waters^ for thou shalt find it after many 

days,' 

The land was still, the skies were grey with weeping. 

Into the soft brown earth the seed she cast. 

“ Oh, soon,’’ she cried, will come the time of reaping. 

The golden time, when clouds and tears are past.” 

Then came a whisper through the autumn haze — 

‘‘ Yea, thou shalt find it after many days.” 

Hour after hour she marks the fitful gleaming 
Of sunlight shining through the cloudy rift ; 

Hour after hour she lingers, idly dreaming 
To see the rain fall, and the dead leaves drift. 

« Oh for some small green signs of life ! ” she prays. 

Have I not watched and waited many days? ” 

At early morning, chilled and sad, she hearkens 
To stormy winds that through the poplars blow. 

Far over hill and plain the heaven darkens — 

Her field is covered with a shroud of snow. 

“ Ah, Lord,” she sighs, « are these Thy loving ways ? ” 

He answers, « Spake I not of many days ? ” 

The snowdrop blooms : the purple violet glistens 
On beds of moss, that take the sparkling showers. 

Half cheering, half doubting yet, she strays and listens 
To finches singing to the shy young flowers. 

A little longer still His love delays 

The promised blessing — “ after many days.” 

« Oh, happy world,” she cries, ‘‘ the sun is shining ! 

Above the soil I see the springing green ! 

I could not trust His word without repining ; 

I could not wait in peace for things unseen. 

Forgive me. Lord ! My soul is full of praise. 

My doubting heart prolonged Thy < many days.’ ” 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. A Family Council 9 

II. First Acquaintances 17 

III. A Question of Peat 28 

IV. Visitors 38 

V. A Gift 54 

VI. A Friend in Need 65 

VII. Robin and Poll 76 

VIII. An Open Door 88 

IX. Sick Neighbors 98 

X. Miss Montague 113 

XI. A Misadventure 123 

XII. First-fruits 136 

XIII. A Warning 146 

XIV. An Audacious Theft 158 

XV. A Straight Talk 168 

XVI. Tom Evans’ End 178 


Contents 


CHAP. PAGE 

XVII. Two Little Strangers 187 

XVIII. Mrs. Hutton 200 

XIX. Howard’s Arrival 21 1 

XX. A Foiled Scheme 221 

XXI. A Changed Life 232 

XXII. Fellow Laborers . . . 241 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


MAN SPRANG OUT AND SEIZED HER BRIDLE.’^ . , Frontispiece 

“Taking off his cap, he looked about him/^ . . . Page 40'/^ 

“Mr. Wallace appeared.” “ 126 ^ 

“The girl sauntered into the cottage and shut the 

” “ 192 / 


DOOR. 


» 


ON THE EDGE OF A MOOR 


CHAPTER I 

A FAMILY COUNCIL 

It is only let to him for ten years/* 

Ten years ! It*s a perfect age. Don't talk of it ! " 

** Years slip by fast enough as one gets older." 

I don’t suppose we shall meet again like this at the 
end of it." 

No ; I expect most of you boys will be married." 

And what about yourself, Tabby ? " 

Oh, I shall have developed into a strong-minded 
spinster." 

A general laugh followed this statement, and seven pairs 
of eyes rested critically, or otherwise, on the figure of the 
girl in their centre. 

Reclining in an old oaken chair, her face just raised 
enough to show her white, softly-moulded throat, her 
hands idly clasped round her knees, Rhoda Carlton met 
her brothers’ gaze with calm equanimity. 

At first glance she might not strike one as a beauty, 
though there was something in the poise of her head, and 
in the upright bearing of her tall, slender figure that de- 
manded attention from all who met her. Dark rippling 

( 9 ) 


lo On the Edge of a Moor 

hair surrounded a broad, white brow, but a pair of soft 
brown eyes did not alter the natural severity of her classi- 
cal features in repose, and it was not until she spoke or 
smiled, and the sudden sunshine softened and radiated 
her whole countenance, that one realized how beautiful 
she was. Turning from her to the young men around 
her, no stranger would have doubted their relationship for 
an instant. Seven of the finest looking men in the 
county they were called, and if length of limb and 
breadth of shoulder, as well as determined regular features 
were to be taken into consideration, then no doubt the 
average Englishman would be at a disadvantage. 

Howard, the eldest, stood against the chimney-piece, 
his dark brows knitted, and he alone of the little group 
seemed ill at ease. 

Edgar ^s whole bearing, as he leaned back in an easy- 
chair, smoking a cigar, proclaimed him to be a soldier; 
whilst lying on the hearthrug in front, there was no mis- 
taking the sailor in the family, his tattoed wrist and sturdy 
figure standing out in bold relief against the blazing fire. 
In the background were three others, one of them a dreamy- 
looking curate, and lastly, the youngest of all, a youth in 
shooting jacket and knickerbockers, was lying full length 
on a low couch, looking the picture of health and con- 
tent. They were all grouped round the smoking-room 
fire, — the cosiest corner in Verners Manor. 

But if we leave them there together and venture into 
the servants' hall, a voluble old housekeeper, discoursing 
to Captain Carlton’s soldier servant, may supply us with 
all necessary information about them. 

‘‘Do you want to know what this family gathering is 
for, Mr. Nicholls ? Then no one can tell you better than 


A Family Council 1 1 

myself, which have nursed the eight from their infancy, 
and never saw finer babies anywhere. It*s been a long 
time coming. Since the old master broke down and told 
Mr. Howard the strain of keeping the old place together 
was too much for him, and Mr. Howard finding out that 
cunning rascal of a Lock, which was the agent and which 
was thieving and ruining the whole property, why, I knew 
it would come to this ! But Mr. Howard, he*s a wonder- 
ful gentleman for business, and he gets the reins in his 
hands, and he cuts down the timber, and he pulls the 
place together, and I believe it would have been well to 
this day, if it hadn't been for them ’lections. He must 
stand for his county, he says, and so all the neighborhood 
said ; and the money was got in hand, and he flung it out 
right and left ; and then, when all’s said and done, a little 
bow-legged, bald-headed ironmonger comes in at the top 
of the poll, and Mr. Howard finds he has wasted his 
goods for nothing. Then his lawyer persuades him to let 
the whole place to a cousin of his who’s a man of money, 
and says if he’s allowed to have it ten years he’ll bring it 
back to the old style again. And that’s where we stand 
now, Mr. Nicholls ! and what Miss Rhoda will do, and 
where she’ll go, is past my knowledge ! But she’s a won- 
derful young lady ; I believe she has excited her brother 
to this degrading business. And he is going up to Lon- 
don, and is actually going into a house of business for a 
time, till he can get his affairs in better order — he the 
heir, and the head of the family, Mr. Nicholls ! We’ve 
been proud of them up to now. Captain Carlton is a 
credit to us, and Mr. Robert, he’s following on in the 
Navy, though it do take a long time for an officer to get 
his title there ! Then there’s Mr. Herbert, he’s an ele- 


12 


On the Edge of a Moor 


gant preacher, and has been highly complimented on his 
sermons by the bishop himself, though what he must needs 
take a curacy in the East of London for, I can't imagine! 
Mr. Walter, he had high honors at the Oxford University, 
and has a lot of letters after his name ; he is one of the 
head masters at the Eton school for young gentlemen, and 
will doubtless take full charge before long. Mr. Edmund 
wears a wig and gown, and is as eloquent and persuasive 
in his speaking before the judges, I believe, as Mr. Her- 
bert is in his pulpit. And as for Mr. Rodney, he’s a fine 
young country gentleman, who can hunt the hounds, or 
land a salmon, or get the biggest bag of game that you 
ever see a gentleman bring in. And he is off to Australia 
to do some farming, he says. But there, Mr. Howard, 
he quite spoils all with these plans of his ! And it’s just 
a good-bye all round to-night, for most of them go their 
different ways to-morrow, and it’s chiefly to settle what 
becomes of Miss Rhoda they’re here. She’s a fine young 
lady, and could have been married over and over, but no 
one seems to touch her heart, she’s that indifferent to 
them all ; whether it’s a titled gentleman or a poor curate, 
it’s all the same, and I always feel sorry for them when 
she gives them the cold shoulder ! She’s not so fond of 
gaiety as she ought to be at her age, and she’s as strong a 
will as any of her brothers. I don’t know what will be- 
come of her I ” 

If the old housekeeper could have been a listener to the 
conversation in the smoking-room at that moment, she 
would have been truly horrified at her young lady’s plans. 

^‘The question is,” Rhoda was saying as she looked 
round upon her brothers with an amused twinkle in her 
eye, ‘‘ what is to be done with me? My private income 


A Family Council 


13 


is ;^i30 a year. It has just been enough to keep me in 
clothes, but when a house and food has to come out of it 
as well, it is rather a puzzle.” 

There was silence, which Howard broke at last by say- 
ing,— 

‘‘ I have told you before, that if you will put up with 
London lodgings I will make arrangements for both of 
us.” 

‘‘And that offer I have declined with many thanks, for 
you will be far more comfortable making your home with 
Uncle Harvey, as he suggests.” 

“ Come to me,” proposed Herbert; “you will have a 
vast scope for your energy in the work in our East End 
parish,” 

Rhoda shook her head. “You are too High Church 
for me,” she said ; “we should spend our time in argu- 
ments, the Bible versus the Prayer Book and the Holy 
Fathers. Now don’t look hurt. I appreciate your thought 
for me, but it wouldn’t answer, old boy ! ” 

“ I am afraid,” put in Edgar, with a slight drawl, 
“that even if I had quarters to offer you, the cavalry 
barracks at Aldershot would not be much to your taste.” 

“That they would not be,” and a clear laugh rang out 
from the girl as she turned to her brother Robert ; “ Well, 
Bob, are you going to offer me a cabin in the Invincible ? ” 

“Walter is the most likely one to suit you,” Bob re- 
plied, taking up a fallen cinder from the rug and aiming 
it with true precision at that individual’s head ; “he has 
awfully snug quarters at Eton, and wants some one to 
keep down that old virago of a cook of his ! ” 

“She won’t have anything to say to me,” responded 
Walter, drily. 


H 


On the Edge of a Moor 


“ She has already planned a life for herself,” said Ed- 
mund, ‘‘so I shall not suggest her coming into chambers 
with me, even if it were practicable. Now then. Tabby, 
out with it ! ” 

“ I shouldn’t mind taking her out with me to the Bush,” 
Rodney put in, with a grandfatherly air ; “she can fish 
and shoot fairly well, and it would be awfully handy to 
have a person to mend one’s socks and cook a dinner, to 
say nothing of cleaning the house down ! ” 

“That is really a liberal offer, Rodney. I am over- 
powered with gratitude. Now will you all listen to me ? 
Howard, do you remember that tiny cottage on the moor 
that you and I went to a couple of years ago, when you 
hired a piece of grouse-shooting ? I intend to live there, 
if possible. I have calculated it all, and think I shall 
really be comfortable in it, if I can persuade old Hannah 
to come with me.” 

“ Preposterous ! ” exclaimed Howard ; “ how on earth 
would you get through a winter snowed up there ? And 
the accommodation is awful. It is all very well to live 
picnic fashion for a week or two in the height of summer, 
but it is a mere workman’s cottage. You must think of 
something better than that.” 

“ That is where I intend to live,” she said determinedly, 
“ and I shall go over next week to see about it.” 

“ And what will Mrs. Grundy say to a girl of your age 
setting up house for yourself like that ? and what society 
would you have ? Don’t talk such arrant nonsense. 
Tabby ! ” 

And Edgar lost his drawl in his vexation at such an idea. 

“That is just the point. There is no society there, 
therefore there is no Mrs. Grundy. You ail know how I 


A Family Council 


15 


dislike society ; and truth to tell, I am longing for real 
work. Now, boys, listen ! This is no mere Quixotic 
fancy of mine, it has been a desire for a long time past. 
That place is benighted ; the village down below has no 
resident clergyman, but one comes over on Sunday 
from another village three or four miles off. I love the 
country, and I love the poor. And it is a grand oppor- 
tunity to live amongst them and try to make their lives 
happier and brighter. I mean to do it. It will be ten 
years before there is a chance of our returning here, and 
perhaps longer. By that time Howard may be ready to 
bring a bride home here as mistress. You need not shake 
your head. I have been mistress here for five years, and 
beyond it being our home, and a place where we have had 
every comfort, I do not know that it would break my heart 
to live elsewhere.*^ 

‘‘ Well, Tabby, I for one heartily approve of your plan,** 
exclaimed Rodney ; ‘Mf you won*t come out with me, it*s 
the next best thing to it, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do ! I 
will see you settled in your cottage before I go abroad. 
You will want a man to arrange things for you, and I’ve 
nothing to do for the next month.** 

But the objections of four or five brothers are not so 
easily overruled, and Rhoda*s plan was a distasteful one 
to most of them. If she had not had a very strong will, 
she would not have conquered, but at the end of all the 
protestations made against it she leaned back in her chair 
with quiet determination in her dark eyes, and said slowly, 
with a placid smile, ** I like to hear your different objec- 
tions and opinions, but I have not spoken without thought. 
I am not a mere girl ; I am under no one*s control, and I 
have my income per annum to do exactly as I like with. 


i6 


On the Edge of a Moor 


You may not fancy the idea at first, but you will soon get 
accustomed to it, and next summer, if all is well, I shall 
not be at all surprised if you Londoners will not be very 
pleased to accept an invitation from me for a week or two 
of pure fresh moor air. What I really want to do, is to 
ask you, Howard, to go over the house with me to-morrow, 
and help me to pick out a few bits of furniture that I may 
want. I believe all my mother’s things are mine, are they 
not?” 

‘‘Yes,” assented Howard, a little gloomily. “ Are you 
going to take the grand piano and the harp from the 
drawing-room ? You will have to get the cottage wall 
taken down to admit the piano, but I suppose that will be 
a trifle.” 

“ No,” Rhoda said quietly, “ the cottage piano in the 
morning-room will answer my purpose. Now we will 
change the subject. You are all looking cross, and I am 
not going to have our last evening together spent in gloom. 
Let us have some music.” 

“ She ought to marry,” observed Edmund, as his sister 
moved across to the piano ; “a single woman with 
opinions and a will of her own is sure to come to grief 
sooner or later.” 

“ A year of cottage life will teach her what all our ob- 
jections fail to do. Let her buy her experience.” 

Edgar spoke with assurance. 

“ We give you a year. Tabby,” called out Bob, “ and 
then we shall see you creeping back thankfully to civilized 
society.” 

Rhoda laughed, but would not be drawn into further 
arguments on the subject. 


CHAPTER II 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 

** There, Hannah ! now what do you think of our new 
home?" 

Indeed, mum, it's a queer place for you." 

Rhoda laughed at the look of perplexity on Hannah 
West’s face, as she surveyed for the first time her young 
mistress’s choice of a dwelling-place. She had been maid 
to Rhoda’s mother, and was deeply attached to the family ; 
but five years ago had married their coachman, who died 
shortly after, and since then she had kept one of the 
lodges. She had always begged Rhoda to let her live 
with her if she married, and there had been no difficulty 
in getting her to come with her now. 

It was a month after the family gathering at the Manor, 
and it had been a busy time with Rhoda. Pier untiring 
energy, and determination to overcome the many obstacles 
raised in her path, had served her in good stead. She had 
gone down to the village of Ashampton, and had taken 
lodgings there with her brother Rodney. There had been 
difficulty at first about the cottage ; the old couple that 
had been put in as caretakers during the winter had first 
to be provided for ; then the landlord who owned a large 
straggling property on the moor was abroad, and his 
agent was not sure whether he would like a permanent 
tenant, and be willing to undertake the necessary altera- 
2 (17) 


1 8 On the Edge of a Moor 

tions to make it habitable for a lady. But when these 
preliminaries were at last satisfactorily arranged, Rhoda 
and Rodney set to work with a will, and when she brought 
Hannah out and showed her over the tiny domain, she 
said laughingly, I almost feel as if I have built the place 
myself, I have made so many improvements.” 

The cottage was of rough grey stone. It stood on 
the side of the moor, and commanded one of the finest 
and most extensive views of the country; there was a 
small enclosure in front, just large enough to hold a few 
hardy shrubs and flowers; behind were two or three 
wooden outhouses which were dignified by the name of 
stables. Inside, the cottage certainly had a very cosy 
appearance. The front door opened into a large low 
room which, though originally meant for a kitchen, Rhoda 
had converted into a very pleasant sitting-room. A large 
old-fashioned open hearth faced you, as you stepped in ; 
on either side of it were two deep recesses, filled with 
shelves reaching to the ceiling, one containing Rhoda’s 
books, the other some valuable old china. At the opposite 
ends of the room were two low casement windows, one 
facing east, the other west, and their recesses were filled 
with cushioned window seats. The cottage piano, a screen, 
a comfortable couch and two or three easy-chairs, a 
quaint old escritoire and one or two smaller tables and 
seats, completed the furniture of the room. Two doors 
led to the other part of the house, one into Rhoda’s bed- 
room, the other into a bright little kitchen; and beyond 
the latter lay a nice pantry and dairy and two small 
rooms, one of which was fitted up as Hannah^s bedroom. 
The other one was intended to be a spare room for any 
visitor, but at present it remained unfurnished. Hannah 


First Acquaintances 


19 


was delighted with the kitchen ; it was tiled underfoot, 
but had a warm rug laid down by the fire, and the neat 
dressers and large kitchen range comforted her soul. 

It’s a poor place for you, mum,” she said with a shake 
of her head ; ‘‘but I’ll be bound I can make it comfort- 
able for you, and if the ovens are as good as they look, I 
shall be satisfied.” 

“ We will bake our own bread, Hannah,” Rhoda went 
on cheerfully,- “and milk our own cow, and make our 
own butter. Do you know that Mr. Howard has given 
me a ^10 note to buy a cow and two pigs? I mean to 
have a poultry yard too, and if we can only get a nice 
spot close to the house for a kitchen garden, we shall have 
all that we need.” 

“I’m afraid of the cold, though,” the old servant pur- 
sued, looking round her doubtfully; “I’ve heard tell the 
wind sweeps down from the top of the moor like a hurri- 
cane, and the snow nearly buries one alive.” 

“We shall weather it. I am going to have very thick 
curtains put to all the windows and doors. I am having 
two layers of thick felt put down in my sitting-room, and 
I have lots of old Persian rugs to go on the top, and if 
you find the tiles cold in the kitchen we will cover it all 
over with cocoanut matting. I am determined that we 
shall be warm at all costs.” 

And then Rhoda went back to her brother in the sit- 
ting-room. “The only thing that puzzles me,” she said, 
as she drew a chair to the fire, “ is whether Hannah and 
I shall be able to do all the work of the house together. 
Hannah will work until she drops, I know, and she can 
turn her hand to anything ; but if we have a garden and 
poultry, I cannot expect her to attend to it all.” 


20 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Get a boy/’ suggested her brother; you could have 
one up from the village for very little, and he need not 
sleep on your premises — unless you need him for protec- 
tion at nights.” 

Rhoda laughed. Who would visit us up here at night, 
do you think ? Burglars must be unknown in this part of 
the country, and even they would hardly think this poor 
cottage could produce enough to make it worth the risk.” 

You have some of the plate here.” 

** Only my own, and that is a very small quantity, I as- 
sure you. But I will certainly get a boy; he will be able 
to take a lot of the rough work off our hands. What I 
should like to get into order before you go, Rodney, is my 
garden. I saw one further down the moorside, which 
was so sunk in the ground that it was sheltered from the 
wind. Do you think mine could be managed so? ” 

*‘1 will see about it to-morrow,” was her brother’s re- 
ply. And Rhoda went to sleep that night, feeling that a 
new life was opening out before her. 

A few weeks later, when her brother left her, she be- 
gan to realize the strange isolation of her position. 

But what to others would have been a keen deprivation 
was real enjoyment to her. She was out in the fresh 
breezy air, bringing in treasures of nature to adorn her 
rooms : bits of lichen, golden bracken and heather, bright 
red berries of all sorts were deftly and beautifully grouped 
together. Sometimes she would bring in an armful of 
sticks to add to their little store of firing, occasionally 
bunches of watercress from the neighboring stream ; and 
her bright laugh, and sweet clear voice so constantly carol- 
ing out some quaint ditty as she helped Hannah in the 
household work, was music in that faithful servant’s ears. 


First Acquaintances 


21 


But Rhoda was soon intent on the work that she had 
come to do. As she stood at her door on a fine frosty 
afternoon, looking down to the valley below, with the vil- 
lage clustering under a thickly wooded height of firs, and 
a little farther on the grand old ruins of Ashampton Castle, 
looking so picturesque in their comfortable cloak of ever- 
green and ivy, she called Hannah to her. 

How am I to begin, Hannah ? she said ; I am shy 
of visiting my neighbors when they don’t know who I am. 
I want to be friends with them ; how shall I start? ” 

Them stiff formal visits aren’t much to any one’s lik- 
ing, I’m thinking,” rejoined the old woman, thoughtfully. 
“If you want to be friends, mum, keep on the lookout 
to do them some neighborly action, and you’ll get a bet- 
ter welcome than going to their door like a parish visitor.” 

“ But I don’t see any one,” objected Rhoda. “I go 
down to the village on market days, and every morning 
for my letters, but no one seems to notice me, or care for 
my coming and going.” 

“ I shouldn’t be in a hurry, mum, only keep a quick 
lookout, and the opportunity will come. I’m thinking 
that Jock may have some belongings that might like to 
hear how he’s getting on in his place.” 

“ Oh, Hannah, how dull I am ! I will go and see his 
mother to-morrow. Is he in the garden ? I will speak to 
him now.” 

“She never lets the grass grow under her feet,” mut- 
tered Hannah, as she went back to the kitchen. “ It’s 
patience ought to be more to the fore : she’s such a one for 
dashing straight off at a thing and stopping to think after, 
but there isn’t any one her equal with it all ! ” 

With swift steps Rhoda turned toward her little garden 


22 


On the Edge of a Moor 


plot, which Rodney had successfully sunk in the ground, 
and which was already planted for the coming spring. 

Jock Chalmers, a red-headed boy of fourteen, looked 
up with a vacant stare from the weeds he was hoeing, upon 
her approach. 

Jock,*’ she said brightly, ** do you think your mother 
would like to see me ? I thought of calling on her to-mor- 
row and telling her how nicely you got through your work 
here.” 

Jock gave a kind of grunt. 

Rhoda continued, Tell me where you live. Can you 
see your home from up here ? ” 

‘‘ Na, yon big trees hideth of *un ! ” and a dirty fore- 
finger indicated in which direction to look. 

** Would you like me to go and see your mother ? ” 

There was eyidently nothing to be got out of Jock, 
Rhoda turned away a little discouraged, and went back to 
her position at the door. As she gazed away from the wild 
moorland around her, down to the cultivated valley below, 
and up again on the other side to long stretches of 
ploughed land, with farms scattered here and there sur- 
rounded by the red rich earth, she said to herself with a 
sigh, ‘‘It takes a long time, and much labor to cultivate 
the earth. I expect I shall not find it easy to reach the 
hearts of these people ; it will be hard ploughing perhaps 
at first.” 

It was her custom every morning after breakfast to walk 
down to the village for her letters, and bad weather never 
kept her indoors. She enjoyed the fresh morning air, and 
would return up the hillside rosy and warm with the ex- 
ercise. But the following morning dawned upon a thick 


First Acquaintances 23 

drenching mist, and Hannah tried to dissuade her from 
going. 

It will not hurt me,'^ Rhoda declared; I have a 
thick ulster, and I want my letters. That is the worst of 
living beyond the country postman's beat, but exercise is 
good for me. Good bye, Hannah. If the mist clears I 
shall go and see Jock’s mother before I come back, so 
don’t expect me till you see me ! ” 

** Take an umbrella, mum, then, do ! ” 

^^No, indeed ; the wind is too strong for that. I am 
quite impervious to the wet.” 

But Rhoda was not experienced in these moor mists, 
and though thickly shod, by the time she reached the little 
post office, her feet were wet through. The postmistress, 
a grim, hard-featured woman, who rarely spoke unless 
asked a direct question, and who had handed Rhoda her 
letters morning by morning without a gleam of recogni- 
tion, now glanced at her with commiseration. And when 
Rhoda proceeded to take off her cap, and wipe her stream- 
ing face, she said gruffly, It’s a wet walk for you, miss.” 

Yes, it is, but I am very strong, and can stand it. I 
wonder if you would allow me to wait here for a little on 
the chance of the mist clearing off. It looks lightening.” 

The woman opened a door and motioned to her to enter ; 
but Rhoda hesitated for a moment when she saw a bright, 
cosy sitting-room, spotlessly neat and tidy, and before a 
blazing fire a cheery-faced little woman, enveloped in a 
large shawl, seated in a comfortable easy-chair, the morn- 
ing’s paper on her lap. 

I shall bring in so much wet with me,” she said. But 
in a moment a mat was spread over the hearthrug, and 
she was invited to stand upon it. 


24 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** I think I might be introduced to the young lady, 
Susan,” said the figure in the chair, in a slightly injured 
tone. 

The postmistress’s tone was very glum as she said to 
Rhoda, ‘'This is my sister, Mrs. Thatcher. We live to- 
gether here ; her husband died twenty years ago.” 

And then she went back to the shop, shutting the door 
after her with a sharp bang. 

“ My poor sister never thinks of people’s nerves,” said 
Mrs. Thatcher, smiling apologetically; “she is a very 
good business woman, and is quite wrapped up in it. I 
sometimes wish she was of a more cheerful disposition. I 
always try to look at the bright side of everything. A wet 
day only makes me appreciate the warmth and comfort of 
our own fireside the more, and if it has brought you in to 
have a few words with a poor invalid, why then, indeed, 
it will have added to my comforts. I so seldom get a 
chance of having a chat with any one; my sister is so un- 
sociable, as I often tell her.” 

Rhoda began to be interested. Was this an opening for 
a little work ? she wondered. 

“ Have you been an invalid long? ” she inquired sym- 
pathetically. 

“ I am subject to bronchitis in the winter, so I never go 
out, and even in the warm weather I have to be very care- 
ful. We have come down in life — there was a time when 
my husband had a nice trap and horse, and when business 
was over — oh, the nice drives we had ! You see, my dear 
young lady, our pride sometimes has to have a sad fall. 
When I was governess in some of the most genteel families 
in the county, and when I married John Thatcher, auc- 
tioneer and agent to most of the building property round, 


First Acquaintances 


25 


I never thought I should live to come down to a little 
country post office and a stationery depository combined ! 
But my dear husband was taken ill of congestion of the 
lungs, and died leaving me without a penny. It was a 
terrible blow to me, and here I am, a helpless, useless en- 
cumbrance to my energetic, busy sister. Not that I wish 
to complain, as I said before ; I always try to look on the 
bright side of things. I remember my father used to call 
me his * sunshine,* and Susan his ‘ shadow.* She always 
took life seriously, Susan did, and she is so quick and 
clever that she looks down upon me, I sometimes think, 
for my want of knowledge about business matters.** 

shall like to come in and see you again if I may,** 
Rhoda said gently ; but I am not in a fit condition to 
stay long now. As it is I am afraid that I shall make this 
room a great deal too damp for your welfare.** 

‘‘ I shall be delighted to see you any day,** responded 
Mrs. Thatcher with alacrity. ^^You are a stranger in 
these parts, are you not? Do you live far off? ** 

Up on the moor.** 

Then you are the young lady there has been so much 
talk about ! Maggie Simes, our little maid-of-all-work — 
she is a dreadful girl for gossip, and I suppose she means 
well, for I must say a chat does cheer me up — she was 
telling me about you.** 

‘‘ What did she say ? ** asked Rhoda, laughing ; I did 
not know I was of sufficient importance to furnish gossip 
for the neighborhood.** 

Ah well, it*s best not to repeat all one hears; people 
will talk. Some say you have been crossed in love, and 
have retired from the world, and gone to live up there in 
disgust at society. And some hinted you were rather 


26 


On the Edge of a Moor 


queer in the head ; and I think all of us have been very 
curious about you/’ 

Rhoda’s sweet, clear laugh rang out merrily. 

** Why shouldn’t a person be allowed to settle in the 
country without having a mystery attached to them, I 
wonder ! I have no strange history, Mrs. Thatcher. I 
am only a very commonplace young woman who likes 
country better than town, and a quiet life better than a 
noisy bustling one. Now I must say good-bye — the mist 
seems to be clearing a little — and if you will allow me I 
will come and pay a longer visit one afternoon, may I ? ” 

Mrs. Thatcher eagerly expressed her hope that she 
would do so, and Rhoda, after a few bright words of 
thanks to the silent sister, left the post office with elation 
at having gained an entrance there. It was still raining a 
little, but she walked valiantly on till she reached Jock’s 
home. It was not a propitious day for visiting; Mrs. 
Chalmers was in the midst of her washing, and the small 
cottage looked the picture of untidiness and discomfort. 
Mrs. Chalmers herself was a nervous, careworn little 
woman ; she thanked Rhoda profusely for coming to see 
her, but beyond that seemed to have no conversation, and 
her ‘‘No, ma’am,” and “Yes, ma’am,” were, to say the 
least of it, disheartening. At last, as she was coming 
away, Rhoda said with some effort, “ I wonder if you 
would let me leave you a little book? I suppose you are 
able to read sometimes? I always feel that we want some 
quiet moments in this busy life of ours to think of better 
things and of our own souls. Do you ever get a quiet 
time to yourself? ” 

“No, ma’am ! 

Rhoda laid her little book down and left with a sigh. 


First Acquaintances 


27 


As she was toiling up the steep hill toward home, her 
heart went up in prayer for those she had seen. She had 
an earnest longing to be used by God in winning souls into 
the Kingdom, but she felt the ground hard and unpre- 
pared for the seed. May God teach me how to plough,^* 
was her inward thought; ‘‘ or rather, may He do it Him- 
self. I would like to be the plough in His Hands if He 
will use me/* 


CHAPTER III 


A QUESTION OF PEAT 

'‘Hannah, what are you doing? " 

" Making some hot scones for your tea, mum/' 

Rhoda came into the kitchen and seated herself on the 
low window sill ; she had just returned from a long walk, 
and was glowing and breathless with battling against the 
wind. 

" I want to give you my experience this afternoon,’* 
she said. '' I have made some fresh acquaintances.” 

"You haven’t been down to the village, have you?” 

" No, I have been on high ground. I struck right 
across the moor above us, and seeing a farmhouse all by 
itself under the shadow of one of these Tors — isn’t that 
what people call the hills about here ? — I thought I would 
pay it a visit. They are neighbors, Hannah ; so don’t 
look so dubious. The door was opened by a little hump- 
backed, deformed woman or girl — I don’t know which — 
who greeted me with a scowl. I asked for a glass of 
milk. She would not ask me in, but went away to get 
it, and then an old woman appeared — such a dear old 
creature, with a snowy white cap — and she took me into 
the best parlor at once, and told me all about herself and 
family. She is a Mrs. Tent, and lives with her son and 
wife, who manage the farm ; the hunchback is her only 
unmarried daughter. Her son has four children, such 
pretty dark-eyed boys ! They come right across the 
(28) 


A Question of Peat 


29 


moor, down to Ashampton, every day to school ; they 
take a donkey with them, and ride it by turns. Their 
mother I saw for a minute; she was digging some turnips 
up in the garden. Well, as I was drinking my milk, 
Mrs. Tent began telling me of a trouble that has come on 
them. It seems that their landlord is the same as mine — 
Mr. Rokeby. They have rented the farm on a lease, 
which is now just at an end, and they have always been 
accustomed to cut into a vein of peat, as they call it, 
which runs through their ground. The other day Mr. 
Rokeby’s agent called on them, and said they must do 
this no longer, that Mr. Rokeby would not have his land 
spoiled, and that if it was touched again they would be 
given notice to quit. I felt quite sorry for them. Old 
Mrs. Tent said it saved them all firing in the winter time, 
and that they had sold a good bit to their neighbors. And, 
as she truly said, the ground was so poor and barren that 
if they weren’t allowed to get the peat out of it, it wasn’t 
worth the money they gave for it. She said they had cut 
peat for twenty years, and by taking care of the ground and 
attending to it, it was as good as it had ever been.” 

Didn’t they have no contract about it when they took 
the farm over ? ” 

‘‘It appears not. In fact, they were the ones to dis- 
cover the vein of peat. It has fired me with the desire to 
investigate our ground, Hannah, and see if we haven’t a 
peat vein. It would save us a lot of coal. As Mrs. Tent 
said, it isn’t as if wood were plentiful up here, and get- 
ting up coals from Ashampton is a serious business. Well, 
the upshot of all this is, that I have promised to write to 
Mr. Rokeby about it, and lay the case plainly before him. 
Mrs. Tent w^as telling me that not one of them are good 


30 


On the Edge of a Moor 


enough scholars to ^ put it clear and proper like/ Her 
son has tried to see Mr. Rokeby more than once, but he 
is always away. And that is what I am going to do this 
very minute, only I thought I would tell you about it first. 
I think this Mr. Rokeby must be a regular old curmudgeon 
from all accounts, and I will try to touch his hard old 
heart. Jock hasn’t gone yet, has he? He can take the 
letter down for me.” 

I don’t think you’re called upon to interfere, mum,” 
began Hannah slowly, as, having put her cakes into the 
oven, she now stood with arms akimbo and reflected. 

Now don’t damp me, there’s a dear old soul. I want 
to make friends with the Tents. I have an eye to those 
small boys. I might have a Sunday class for them here, 
and I long to know that poor hunchback ; she looked so 
soured and miserable. It can do no harm, at all events, 
and may do some good.” 

And Rhoda went back to her room and sat down at 
her writing desk to compose the important letter. 

It was some days before she received a reply. It was 
as follows : — 

“ Mr. Rokeby presents his compliments to Miss Carlton, and in 
reply to her letter begi to state that his agent was acting according 
to his wishes in the matter mentioned. 

** Rokeby Court.” 

I call that an exceedingly ungentlemanly letter,” 
exclaimed Rhoda, as she read it aloud to Hannah. 

‘‘ I should say that he is a gentleman that does not like 
to be interfered with, mum. And you see you are a per- 
fect stranger to him.” 

‘‘ Oh, Hannah, you will never give me any sympathy. 
Now I shall have to go across to the Tents this afternoon 


A Question of Peat 


31 


and confess my failure. I never did like this Mr. Rokeby 
from the time we first had to do with him. He always 
keeps out of sight himself, and his agent is one of the 
most disagreeable old men that I have ever seen. I shall 
dislike him more than ever now. Where is Rokeby 
Court, do you know? ** 

think it's somewheres across the moor, about ten 
miles away." 

Rhoda set off on her mission about two o'clock, taking 
her rough Scotch terrier, Tartar" by name, with her. 
She had no fear in taking these lonely walks by herself, 
and the wildness and desolation of the moors rather in- 
vigorated than depressed her. Clad in a warm shooting 
dress, gaiters and cap to match, and a strong stick in 
hand, she felt quite equal to battle with rough wind and 
weather ; those were the only foes that ever crossed her 
mind. She loved nature and nature's God, and therefore 
never found her wanderings over the moor dull or unin- 
teresting. 

She was received very warmly by old Mrs. Tent, who 
took her into the kitchen. It was a pleasant, homely 
room. Young Mrs. Tent was making a batch of bread, 
and Jess, the deformed daughter, was sitting by the fire 
knitting stockings for the boys. Rhoda was offered a seat 
in the chimney corner, which she took, and then dis- 
closed the object of her visit. 

Ah well," said old Mrs. Tent, I never thought he 
would heed. He be a very hard landlord, if so be his 
agent, Mr. Crake, speaks right of him. My son be say- 
ing he dunno if he won't clear out and settle t'other side 
of the valley. If he had a bit more money he would, only 
the land over there be twice as much as this ; but then. 


32 


On the Edge of a Moor 


as he sayeth, you get its worth out of it. If it weren’t for 
our cattle and poultry we should never get on at all ! ” 

Rhoda expressed her sympathy, and then asked the 
young mother after the boys. 

** They’re not home yet. They were to call at the post 
afore they come back for a letter that their father is look- 
ing for. I wish we were nearer the village oftentimes. 
We’re out of the way of everything here.” 

'^And so am I,” said Rhoda, brightly; but I enjoy 
that part of it. I go down to the village every morning to 
get my letters; wet or fine, the weather never keeps me.” 

** You do? Now to think o’ that ! ” ejaculated the old 
woman. ** I haven’t been to the post for many a year, 
not since Susan Frith come into it. I should like to see 
her and Lucy again, but folks tell me they keepeth they- 
selves wonderful close ! ” 

‘‘Do you know them?” asked Rhoda with interest. 
“ I was paying Mrs. Thatcher a visit the other day. She 
seems such a bright, cheery little woman.” 

“Ay, ay, she may well be; ” and Mrs. Tent nodded 
her head up and down mysteriously. 

“Now, mother,” said her daughter-in-law, “don’t you 
be so hard on her. I can’t abear Miss Frith, and I dunno 
why she be your favorite. She fairly scares a person with 
her hard, cross tongue.” 

“I knew them afore you did, M’ria — when they were 
in frocks and pinnies. I went over and cooked the dinner 
for their mother’s funeral, and well do I remember Lucy 
prancing up and down and showing herself off to the 
company in her new black frock, whiles Susan, she 
creepeth up to me in the kitchen, and saith she, looking 
up so mournful with they black eyes of hers, and yet so 


A Question of Peat 


33 


determined like for her age, * Mrs. Tent,^ she saith, ^ will 
you show me how to make a steak puddin^ for father? 
Mother said as she hoped I would try and keep the house 
going when she were a-taken, an^ I will try with all my 
might to do it.^ The little maid ! I can see her now, 
and all the time choking her sobs down, for she were 
powerful fond of her mother. And she carried out her 
mother’s wish right bravely. She were only just turned 
eleven, but she took up life’s burden then, that she did, 
and she worked straight on for twenty year at that farm, 
till her father he were carried out to be buried ’longside of 
his wife. She were allays steady and grave, were Susan, 
but Lucy were just the opposite. She played whiles Susan 
worked, and not a finger would she lift to help her. She 
were her father’s darling, o’ course. I don’t think Susan 
ever had a loving word from him, though she slaved for 
his comfort as Lucy never would ’a done. And then they 
cometh to be young women, and Lucy, mind you, were 
sent to a boarding school to be made a lady of, and she 
cometh back a-playing the pianny and talking that jargon 
they calleth French. I saith to her one day, when I were 
up at the farm giving Susan a hand with pickling of pork, 
* Why, Lucy,’ says I, * are you a-coming home to help 
your sister on the farm a bit now ? It’s heavy work for 
her.’ She laughed in my face, and held out a pretty pair 
o’ white hands. ‘Do you think,’ she saith, ‘I’m agoing 
to scrub and scour and bake with these? Have I the cut 
of a house drudge? No,’ she saith; ‘but I’m agoing to 
earn my livelihood another way, Mrs. Tent. I’m agoing 
to be a governess,’ she saith; and with that she runneth 
away from me laughing, and the next thing I heerd were 
that she’d got a situation not far off in a clergyman’s 
3 


34 


On the Edge of a Moor 


family. Well, as I were a-saying But am I a-tiring 

of you, miss ? ** 

** No, indeed, I like to hear it all.” 

Mrs. Tent continued : ** By-and-by there cometh a 
young man a-coorting Susan. She could hardly take it 
in, poor maid, that any one should care for her — not but 
what she had her share of good looks, only she didn’t 
make enough of herself, Susan didn’t, and when her sister 
was by, she let her come too much to the front. Well, 
she and this John Thatcher kept company for two year. 
She said she couldn’t leave her father, but John were will- 
ing to wait, and then back from one of her situations 
cometh Lucy. There ! you can guess what happened ; a 
pretty face and lively tongue soon winneth a man, and 
Miss Lucy spared no pains in making of herself agreeable 
to John. I do believe he would ’a stood true, if Susan 
had come to the front more; he did press her hard to 
marry him soon, but she said she couldn’t. She dropped 
herself in the background, and soon saw John a-making 
love to Lucy. Then she spoke to him much as she spoke 
to me the day her mother died, quiet and gentle-like, but 
very steady. She told him she knew Lucy would make 
him happier than she would, and they could be married 
as soon as they liked — which they were, a month from that 
time ! She told me all about it when her trouble were 
fresh on her. ‘ But,* saith she, pursing her lips up very 
firm, ‘ I’m never going to speak on this subjec* agen, Mrs. 
Tent, and you must please not mention the matter to me 
after to-day.* Ah, poor Susan, she have had her trials ! ” 

‘‘Well,’* put in young Mrs. Tent, as she placed her 
dough down in front of the blazing fire, “ I never heerd 
tell of that story before, mother; but of course it’s not 


A Question of Peat 


35 


to be wondered at if men likes bright, pretty ways, and 
Miss Frith — if she allays looked as gloomy as she do now 
— I don’t think she’d keep a lover long anyhow ! ” 

** Folks differ about some things seemingly. I don’t 
think much myself of a red- cheeked apple if it’s rotten to 
the core. But there ! some seems to like the rotten- 
ness ! ” 

It was the hunchback who spoke, and her tone was in- 
expressibly bitter. Rhoda glanced at her, and with a 
sympathetic smile she laid her hand on hers. 

** 1 think I agree with you,” she said gently ; it’s the 
heart men ought to look at — not the outward form. I 
think some of the noblest souls have lived in very plain 
and homely bodies. I do feel for poor Miss Frith.” 

**But that isn’t all,” put in the old lady briskly ; ‘‘let 
me tell you more. When old Frith died he left a good 
bit o’ money to his daughters, and Susan she determined 
to keep the farm on. It were doing well, and she were a 
good business woman and a clever manager. But that 
John Thatcher, who had set up as a gentleman, he and 
Lucy begged and prayed her to put her money into some 
investment o’ his. I don’t rightly know how they got 
round her. John told her it would be the making o’ him 
if she would, and it would be as safe as in the Bank o’ 
England. Anyhow, she gave it to them, and then it all 
went to a smash, and every penny o’ hers had clean gone. 
John didn’t live much longer, and he died leaving Lucy 
with a many of his debts to pay, and not a penny that 
she could call her own. Of course Susan couldn’t keep 
on the farm, but she managed to pay the debts, and took 
her sister to live with her. And now she’s the postmis- 
tress of Ashampton, and her sister has never wanted for 


36 


On the Edge of a Moor 


nothing. Susan she slaves herself to death in keeping her 
in idleness; she’s a good woman, that she is, and folks 
that know her story needn’t wonder she’s a bit grave and 
stern ! ” 

Thank you, Mrs. Tent; she is a noble woman. I 
am so glad to hear about it. It shows how wrong it is of 
us to judge people hastily.” 

Rhoda’s tone was somewhat wistful ; she was wishing 
that she had found an entrance into Susan Frith’s heart, 
but as yet she was as far from that as ever, and now she 
felt as if she did not wish to cultivate Mrs. Thatcher’s 
acquaintance any more. She stayed some little time 
longer, and before leaving discovered that Mrs. Tent’s 
deformed daughter, Jess, was passionately fond of read- 
ing. 

** Are you a good walker ? ” Rhoda asked her. Could 
you come over to me one afternoon and see if I have any 
book you would like to borrow ? ’ ’ 

Jess stared at her in astonishment. 

I’m not given to walking,” she said gruffly, but I’ll 
come. Next Saturday I’ll come.” 

** That will be very nice. I shall expect you early be- 
cause you won’t want to be out after dark.” 

As to that, I prefer it. I’m not afraid of the dark ; ” 
and Jess gave a short laugh as she took up her knitting 
again. 

Young Mrs. Tent came outside the door with Rhoda. 
I.owering her voice, she said, It’s very kind of you, 
miss, to take notice of Jess. We can’t get her out no- 
wheres — leastways not to see people ; she wanders away 
over the moor by herself, but as to going near Ashampton 
or into any neighbor’s house, why, she flatly refuses.” 


A Question of Peat 37 

1 do feel so sorry for her. Has she always been like 
this? ” Rhoda said gently. 

** Yes, from her birth. She have a very sharp tongue 
at times, but she*s wonderful fond of the boys ; she’ll do 
anything for them. Good afternoon, miss; you know 
we’re allays glad to see you. Mother quite cheers up 
having a visitor.” 

When Rhoda told Hannah that evening the story of 
Susan Frith she concluded by saying, ‘‘ It may be wrong, 
but I feel I cannot go and visit Mrs. Thatcher with the 
same pleasure now ! I wish I could get to know Susan ; 
she is the one that wants cheering up.” 

** I think Mrs. Thatcher may be in more want of 
spiritual help,” said Hannah, thoughtfully. Don’t give 
her up, mum ; you may get her to look at her sister a 
little differently, if you try and influence her a bit.” 


CHAPTER IV 


VISITORS 

Two days after this, the weather, which had been be- 
coming increasingly cold, developed into driving snow 
and wind, and as evening came on, the gale was so vio- 
lent that Rhoda told Hannah to make up a bed for Jock, 
and let him sleep the night there. They were glad enough 
to shut up the house and draw the curtains, for the snow 
beat in at every crevice, and the wind howled round the 
house in a perfect fury. 

** I do not wonder that people and cattle perish in such 
storms as this if out upon the moor,’^ said Rhoda, as 
Hannah came^in with a dainty little meal for her at seven 
o’clock. 

It’s an awful night, mum ! We seem to be right in 
the thick of it, too ! It’s a wonder the windows don’t 
blow in. I’ll put another log or two on your fire, for it’s 
bitter cold.” 

And Hannah bustled about, pulling a curtain here, and 
a mat there, until Rhoda laughed, saying, I believe you 
think me a hothouse plant by the care you are taking of 
me ! Why, I am as warm as a toast in here ! I hope you 
are as comfortable in the kitchen.” 

‘‘Yes, we are nicely there. How thankful I’m to think 
you ordered shutters for the windows ! What should we 
have done without them ! But there, I’ve left one window 
unclosed. I thought maybe if there was any poor soul 
(38) 





1 



“Taking off his cap, he looked about him.” 


« 






Visitors 


41 


out, it would be a beacon light to them. Jock has been 
telling me his father was lost in just such a storm as this 
six years ago come this Christmas, and when he was found 
in the morning quite dead, he wasn’t above fifty yards 
from a dwelling-place ! ” 

Rhoda shivered. ‘‘Don’t tell me any more, Hannah, 
or you will make me nervous.” 

Hannah left the room, and Rhoda was wrapped in 
thought whilst disposing of her food. Later in the even- 
ing she went to her piano. She was passionately fond of 
music, and had a beautiful voice. Now as she tried over 
some of her songs, Hannah and Jock in the kitchen lis- 
tened spellbound, but when she drifted into some sweet 
old hymn tunes, and finally into the solemn prayer for 
those at sea, old Hannah added her quavering voice to the 
refrain — 

“ O hear us when we cry to Thee 
For those in peril on the sea.’* 

The last note had hardly died away when all were startled 
by a thundering knock at the front door, which opened 
immediately into the sitting-room. For a moment Rhoda, 
starting from her seat, stood irresolute, and then when the 
knock was repeated and a hoarse voice shouted for admis- 
sion, she motioned to Hannah, who had already appeared, 
to unfasten it. When once the door was open, such a 
blinding shower of snow swept in that it was very difficult 
to distinguish the man’s figure in the midst of it. He 
turned without a word to help Hannah close the door be- 
hind him, and it needed all their strength to accomplish 
that feat, for the wind was driving against them like a 
hurricane. Then, taking off his cap, he looked about 
him in bewilderment. 


42 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** I haven’t the faintest idea where I am,” he said, ad- 
dressing Rhoda ; ‘‘you must pardon me for my uncere- 
monious entrance. I was nearly desperate. I think I 
have been wandering about for hours, and then I saw 
your light and made my way here.” 

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in rough shooting 
suit and gaiters. His heavy moustache was glistening 
with icicles, and his eyebrows and hair were so thickly 
powdered with snow that it gave him the appearance of an 
elderly man. His dark eyes were keen and rather fierce 
at first sight, but they softened when he spoke, and his 
voice was that of a cultured gentleman. 

“I am glad our light has been a guide to you,” said 
Rhoda, quietly; “ it must be terrible out to-night.” 

“It is indeed. I have my horse outside; is there a 
stable where I could put him up for a short time, till I 
know my bearings ? ” 

“Jock will bring him round. Hannah, will you tell 
him?” 

Hannah was standing looking with great disapprobation 
at the melted snow that was pouring from the stranger’s 
clothes and making pools of water where he stood. He 
caught her look. 

“ May I come into the kitchen,” he asked, “ and have 
a rub down ? I am really not in a fit condition to stay 
here.” 

He followed her, and Rhoda seated herself by the fire, 
wondering who he was ; but it was not long before he re- 
turned, and she ordered a cup of hot coffee to be brought 
to him at once. More than this he would not take. 

“ I must be making the best of my way back,” he said. 
“ I have not the slightest notion what part of the moor I 


Visitors 


43 

am in. Can you tell me how far Rokeby Court is from 
here? ** 

** You are a very long way from it,’^ said Rhoda. Are 
you staying there? 

Yes, and I want to get back, or they will be anxious.’^ 
** We are close to Ashampton, the village is only about 
a mile and a half from us.’^ 

Ashampton ! I am very far out of my beat then. I 
ought to be on the other side of the moor.** 

He looked perplexed, and Rhoda said, You must not 
think of venturing to Rokeby to-night. You would never 
reach it.** 

No,** he said, with a short laugh ; ‘‘it would be mad- 
ness to attempt it. Now, can you put me in the way of 
reaching Ashampton? I will get a bed at the inn there.** 
“I wish we could offer you hospitality here for the 
night,** said Rhoda, thoughtfully, “ but we have really no 
accommodation.** 

He looked up, and a softer gleam came into his eyes. 

“I am very much obliged to you, but I would rather 
get to Ashampton if I could.** 

“I think, then, if we guide you to the cart-track just 
in front of our gate, you cannot go astray, for that goes 
straight down to the village, and there is some fencing on 
one side of it the whole way.** 

“ Thank you, that will be first-rate.** 

There was a pause; sipping his coffee, the stranger 
made good use of his eyes, and Rhoda noted with amuse- 
ment his perplexed and wondering gaze, as he saw the dif- 
ferent tokens of comfort and refinement around him. 

“ Isn*t this a rather lonely place for you ? ** he asked at 
length, a little hesitatingly. 


44 


On the Edge of a Moor 


No, I never feel it so. I love the moor.” 

‘‘ But excuse me, I do not mean to be inquisitive ; but 
surely you do not live here alone ? ’ ’ 

Rhoda's head was a little raised as she answered, with a 
touch of proud reserve in her tone, ‘ * I live here with my 
old and faithful servant, Mrs. West.” 

** Still, I think you must feel the want of space in such 
a tiny place as this, donh you ? This must be a mere 
laborer's cottage.” 

It quite satisfies my requirements.” 

He would not be suppressed by her tone. 

‘‘I often think,” he said reflectively, ‘‘that, after all, 
comfort and not space is the chief thing to aim at in a 
house. You have proved it so here. We can live in one 
room as happily as in a dozen, for we can but be in one 
room at a time.” 

“Will your horse be fit to ride down to Ashampton? ” 
Rhoda inquired, quietly changing the conversation. 

“Oh yes, thank you; he wasn’t as exhausted as I was. 
Is there no farm nearer to you than Ashampton ? ” 

“ No ; the nearest is a good two miles from here.” 

“And can you tell me ” 

He stopped suddenly, and then, as if struck by some 
strange idea, said, “ Surely you cannot be Miss Carlton ? ” 

“I am.” 

He looked a little confused, then gave a short laugh. 

“ Mr. Rokeby had an idea you were quite an old lady, 
and it was having had this spot described to me as being 
the nearest cottage to Ashampton that made me think you 
must be she. Haven't you — er — had some correspond- 
ence with Mr. Rokeby lately ? ” 

“Has he been telling you he has had some one med^ 


Visitors 45 

dling with his tenants and prying into matters that do not 
concern them ? ’ ^ 

And Rhoda smiled as she spoke. 

‘^It was a question of peat, wasn’t it? I remember 
hearing something about it.” 

Yes, and if you have any influence with Mr. Rokeby, 
I do wish you would persuade him to reconsider his de- 
cision.” 

Shortly and graphically she brought the case before 
him, and when she paused her hearer seemed interested. 

I think, in justice to Mr. Rokeby, I must remind you 
that all his straggling property on the confines of the moor 
used to be rich in peat, which is not to be found every- 
where. We are not in Ireland, you know. Miss Carlton, 
and the peat veins, as the people about here call them, are 
getting very scarce. Cutting the peat impoverishes the 
land. He has a right to withhold that permission from 
any tenant.” 

I really can hardly imagine the land becoming more 
impoverished than it is; as Mrs. Tent said to me, if it 
doesn’t produce peat it will not produce anything else. 
But of course Mr. Rokeby must do as he thinks best. It 
is cutting off one of the means of livelihood for these 
poor people.” 

Shall I speak to him again about it ? ” 

‘‘I wish you would, if you have any influence with 
him?” 

‘‘I can but try, at all events.” 

For some time longer her guest stayed talking, and then 
rose to go. Jock brought his horse round, and Hannah, 
wrapped up in a shawl, ventured outside the door to 
point out to him some landmarks. The storm was les- 


46 


On the Edge of a Moor 


selling, and the snow had almost ceased to fall. In the 
distance the twinkling lights of the village could be seen, 
and when Hannah came back to her mistress, she said 
cheerfully, ** It isn’t possible for him to lose himself now, 
mum, and the snow is not so deep as it might be.” 

Rhoda was gazing dreamily into the fire, but turned 
round. 

** Have you any idea who he may be, Hannah ? Some 
relation of Mr. Rokeby’s, do you think?” 

I made so bold as to ask him his name when he was 
shaking the snow off him in the kitchen. Mr. Wallace, 
he calls himself ; but he seemed rather high and mighty 
over himself, and I asked no more. I have heard Mr. 
Rokeby lives by himself. He must be a friend staying 
there.” 

** He looks an unhappy man, with restlessness so strongly 
marked on his face. It is a very resolute face too, but I 
should say he was a man with little religion.” 

He has a very high-handed way of speaking ; but he 
gave five shillings to Jock, which has pleased him 
mightily.” 

It is fortunate Jock was here. That reminds me, 
Hannah, I have had a horse promised me by Mr. Edgar. 
Don’t you think we shall find it useful ? He says he has 
bought one very cheap from an officer going abroad, and 
will send it to me for a Christmas present.” 

I think a moor pony would answer our purpose better 
than one of that sort,” replied Hannah, dubiously. We 
want one to go up and down the hills with a cart.” 

‘‘ Well, we will see what this one is like. If it is of no 
use to us, I will exchange it for another. I don’t like to 
refuse it. I told my brothers I would not be proud, and 


Visitors 


47 


would accept anything they liked to send me, from a 
horse down to a milk-can or a washing-tub. And this is 
the first offer I have had. It is not one to be despised.” 

The next day being Saturday, Rhoda wondered whether 
Jess Tent would be enterprising enough to come across 
to her in the snow. A frost had followed the storm, and 
the snow was crisp and hard. Still, it would be tiring 
walking, and she half hoped that she would not attempt 
it. However, about half-past three, as she went to the 
door to look out, she saw a figure in the distance, and 
knew from the limping gait that it was Jess. 

Now, Hannah, you must bring in a dainty little tea 
for us at four. Make us some of your nice hot cakes. I 
want to give this poor girl a treat.” 

Jess arrived rather breathless, but with eager curiosity 
and anticipation shining in her large, pathetic, grey eyes. 
Rhoda took off her heavy shawl, and seated her in a 
cushioned chair by the fire, and Jess felt as if she must be 
in fairyland. Yet there was nothing very costly in the 
things about her ; it was only the contrast from the farm- 
house kitchen that she felt, and the few plants, photo- 
graphs, and pretty knickknacks scattered about gave a 
charm to the whole in her eyes. 

She was dressed in her Sunday best, her hair smooth 
and shining from the liberal use of hair-oil, a blue ribbon 
with a tiny locket on it was tied about her neck, and stiff 
starched frills of lace were round her throat and wrists. 
A black silk apron with two pockets trimmed with violet 
ribbon completed her attire. Poor Jess ! though out- 
wardly gruff in tone to all around, she had a longing for 
sympathy and kindness, and Rhoda’s bright face and 
cheery voice had from the first quite fascinated her. She 


48 


On the Edge of a Moor 


had been counting the hours to this visit, and had de- 
termined to come in spite of the bad weather. 

‘‘You are sure your feet are not wet?^^ Rhoda said 
kindly. “I know those snowshoes you have just taken 
off are wonderful things, but the wet sometimes gets 
through them.’* 

“ My feet are quite dry, thank you.” 

And then Rhoda drew up a chair to the other side of 
the fire and began to talk. She had the great gift of be- 
ing able to win people’s confidence, and before long Jess 
was pouring into her ears thoughts and aspirations that 
for years had been fast locked within her breast. 

“ I dare say it may seem foolish to you, but I want to 
know, and I haven’t a bit of knowledge. I sit and think 
things out when I’m working, and I’d give worlds to be 
a scholar. I’ve heerd tell of people knowing all the stars 
by name, and others know every leaf and plant on the 
moor by grand Latin names. I love books — any sort I 
can get hold of — not stories so much. I used to read 
Bow Bells, Jim used to bring some from Ashampton ; 
but it was all very well as long as I was wrapped up in it, 
but after it was finished it made me hate myself and my 
life more than ever. And then I got hold of a geography 
book, and I found that a deal better ; it made me feel, 
after I’d studied it a bit, as if I was getting something 
into my head that would last. I began to think of other 
countries, and how I should live in them if I went there, 
and it makes me feel I know more of the world than just 
this bit of England.” 

Jess paused, and Rhoda said, with interest, “ Please 
tell me more. What other books have you read ? ” 

“History. Ah! I just dote on English history. 


Visitors 


49 


There was a time when I used to hear father talk about 
the Roman road across a part of the moor, and I used to 
think the Romans was black savages; and then there’s 
supposed to be an old British village, or the stones of it 
hereabouts — do you know of it, miss ? ” 

Yes, I am longing to know more about it. Hannah 
and I were out one morning trying to discover traces of it, 
and certainly some of the old stones are most interesting. 
We have been told that a hearthstone was dug up in our 
plot of ground behind the house some time ago in beauti- 
ful preservation.” 

Ah well, when I first heerd tell of it, I thought the 
Britons were French people. I didn’t know they had 
aught to do with us. But the History told me all about 
it, and about the Romans too. It’s wonderful, the differ- 
ence there is betwixt books — I was thinking it out the 
other day. The story-papers make me feel awful discon- 
tented and restless like, the other hard reading leaves me 
a comfortable filled kind of feeling after. The stories 
make me think what a miserable wretch I am, of no good 
to no one ; the History and such like, they make me feel 
I know a lot more than most of our folk do, and it lifts 
my head up like.” 

‘‘I must let you look at some of my books after we 
have had tea, and you must choose one to take back with 
you. Now I know you will not mind my asking you, but 
amongst the books that you read, do you study the Bible ? ” 

^^No.” 

Jess looked surprised, and a slight pucker settled be- 
tween her brows as she spoke. ‘‘I do read a chapter 
now and again on a Sunday, but it doesn’t suit me as well 
as the other kind of reading.” 

( 4 ) 


On the Edge of a Moor 


50 


You find it dry and uninteresting ? 

** Yes,’* she said, with a short laugh. I don’t think 
I’m different to most folks if I do.” 

suppose you are not,” Rhoda said, with a little 
sigh, and yet it is worth more than all the books you 
have read or could read put together.” 

Jess looked uninterested, her eyes roved round the 
room. 

Rhoda added brightly, ‘‘ Will you be surprised if I tell 
you that I would rather have my Bible to study than any 
of the books I have on those shelves? ” 

'‘I suppose you get more out of it than what most do.” 

Perhaps you have never tried. I wish you would 
come to me one Sunday, and let us have a little study of 
it together.” 

‘‘I shouldn’t mind,” said Jess, laconically; Sunday 
is a long day to me.” 

I suppose you never go to church ? ” 

Not me. Jim he goes to the chapel in Ashampton 
when he ain’t too tired, and M’ria she goes with him on 
occasions. Mrs. Tent and me always keep to home with 
the boys.” 

I won’t ask you to come to-morrow because of this 
snow, but to-morrow week, if it is good weather, will you 
come at three o’clock, and then you will be able to have 
a cup of tea before you go home ? ” 

‘‘Yes, I’ll come,” responded Jess. 

Hannah now entered the room, and wheeled up the 
tea-table to the fire. Jess’s eyes shone as she noted the 
delicate china, the silver muffin-dish with hot cakes, and 
another plate of crisp brown biscuits; the thin bread and 
butter, and the rich-looking plum cake in the old-fashioned 


Visitors 


51 


cake-basket ; all had a great fascination for her. She had 
few pleasures in her life, and had always appreciated 
everything beautiful. Rhoda noticed her enjoyment of it 
all, and was as cheery and bright a hostess as Jess could 
have had. 

When tea was over, she was taken to the bookshelves, 
but seemed quite bewildered as to what to choose. She 
finally selected a book of travels in Africa, and then, with 
a longing look at the piano, said, ^‘Do you play, miss? 
I’m so fond of music. I can sing myself fairly well, it’s 
the only thing I can do, but of course we haven’t an in- 
strument of any kind. Jim had a concertina once, but 
one of the children smashed it, and we ain’t had no music 
for years.” 

Rhoda sat down and began to sing one of her simple 
ballads, then she asked Jess to join her in a hymn, and 
she was struck with the sweet true notes the poor de- 
formed girl had. They sang on for some time, first 
trying one thing, and then another, until Rhoda, seeing 
her visitor showed no sign of taking her departure, said 
gently, mustn’t keep you longer, for you have a long 
way to go. I am so glad you have been able to come, and 
I shall expect you to-morrow week if it is fine.” 

Oh, I’ll be sure to come. I like it here. It’s rather 
different to our home, as you know, and I get so tired of 
that old kitchen.” 

Then, as she was putting on her shawl, she said, sur- 
veying the room with approving eyes, — 

*^It’s like the books I’ve read. I could sit here with 
comfort if it was mine, and I never would go outside. 
I’ve heerd tell of a lady that lives like you the other 
side of the valley. She has a tiny cottage that we 


52 


On the Edge of a Moor 


would think a great come-down, but inside it’s like a 
palace. Jane McKay, that comes and gives us a hand at 
times, she’s been in for a day ; but she says, for all she 
has such nice furniture, she’s awful poor, and nearly 
starves herself and her girl that does for her.” 

What is her name? ” asked Rhoda, with interest. 

'‘Miss Montague, they call her. She lives just the 
other side of Ashampton. She’s awful fond of flowers, 
but Jane says that you can’t stay your hunger with them, 
and she has more flowers than food on her table, she 
says. ’ ’ 

Rhoda said no more, but bade her good-bye, and then 
went into the kitchen. 

" Hannah, I think that poor Jess has had a good time 
here ; but oh, how I want to reach her soul ! It seems so 
difficult, and now she has gone I feel I could have said 
more than I did. I am always losing opportunities.” 

" Is she coming again, mum? ” 

"Yes, next Sunday. Do you know, I have such 
quantities of plan in my head for this winter. What 
do you think of an evening service on Sunday night in 
our kitchen, and a Sunday-school in the afternoon, and 
perhaps a sewing-party or mothers’ meeting in the week, 
and a village library attached? ” 

Hannah smiled, and there was much hidden behind 
that smile, but she said quietly, " People don’t like com- 
ing out on winter nights in country like this, I fancy. 
You’ll have to get to know them first, mum ; there ain’t 
enough of them yet to fill our kitchen. Better wait a bit. 
I believe you may do more good in teaching and talking 
to the ones and twos than to crowds.” 

"Yes, I know that is so, but sometimes I feel I haven’t 


Visitors 


53 


enough to expend my energy on here. And, Hannah, I 
have just heard of a lady I am most anxious to know. I 
feel very curious about her.’' 

Rhoda related what she had heard from Jess, adding. 

Of course I know my chief object in coming here was 
to make friends with the poor, but I confess I did not 
realize what it would be to cut oneself off so completely 
from all one’s .friends, and I thought perhaps I might be 
able to help this Miss Montague if she is in need of it ; 
what do you think? ” 

But Hannah looked dubious, and could give no advice 
on this point. 


CHAPTER V 


A GIFT 

The next day Rhoda started for church in Ashampton. 
She always attended the morning service there, and Han- 
nah sometimes accompanied her, but found it too long a 
walk to take often. It was a bright, frosty morning ; icicles 
were glittering in the sun, and the snow was crisp and 
hard underfoot. Down the snowy slopes in front lay the 
little village half buried in the snow, and the ridge of pine 
woods stood like grim sentinels above on the other side of 
the valley. There were not many people about as she 
came down the village street, but the bells were chiming 
merrily, and presently in front of her she noticed Miss 
Frith come out of the post office, and wend her way up 
the steep little cobble stoned lane leading to the church. 
For one moment Rhoda hesitated, then determined to join 
her. As yet she had been quite unsuccessful in getting to 
know her, for Miss Frith seemed always so busy that she 
could barely spare time to hand the letters across the 
counter when asked for them. 

‘‘ Good morning, Miss Frith. We are both rather early, 
I think. 

Miss Frith turned round, and the lines about her mouth 
became more set when she saw Rhoda’s intention of walk- 
ing with her. 

She responded civilly, and then Rhoda inquired for the 
invalid. 

( 54 ) 


A Gift 


55 


She is fairly well, thank you. This sharp cold rather 
tries her. She was asking after you only this morning, 
wondering whether you would come and see her.’^ 

‘‘Yes, I will, indeed. May I come to-morrow after- 
noon ? I hardly know when you are at leisure.** 

“As to me. Tin generally busy with the shop; but 
Lucy is always at leisure. She will be glad to see you to- 
morrow.** 

“ I wish you had some one to relieve you sometimes. 
How tired you must get of always being on duty ! Don*t 
you?** 

Rhoda spoke brightly and sympathetically, but the reply 
was rather sharp. 

“ I suppose we are never intended to be off duty in this 
life, are we ? I never expect to be.** 

“ No,** Rhoda said thoughtfully, “ we ought not to be 
— in the sense you mean but very few remember that; ** 
and she added softly, almost under her breath, “ Blessed 
is that servant whom his Lord when He cometh shall find 
so doing.** 

Miss Frith caught the words, and her face softened 
wonderfully, but her voice had the same sharp ring in it 
as she asked, “ Are you one of His servants? ** 

“I hope I am,** Rhoda responded. 

“You*re one of the few, then. There aren*t many in 
this part of the world. A more benighted, heathenish 
place I never was in, and our clergyman — well, I needn*t 
tell you what he is like — you have heard him. It*s a case 
of the blind leading the blind.** 

Rhoda could not truthfully deny this statement, though 
she was saddened at the bitterness of tone with which such 
an assertion was made. Changing the subject, she said, 


56 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** I have been seeing old Mrs. Tent lately ; she was telling 
me she used to be an old friend of yours.'* 

‘‘ Yes, when she lived out our way. That was before 
her son married. I haven't seen her for a long time, nor 
Jess, the deformed daughter. The others come in occa- 
sionally on market days." 

Jess came to tea with me yesterday." 

Miss Frith stood still, partly to gain her breath — for the 
ascent to the church was very steep — partly in sheer 
amazement. 

‘‘ You don’t say so ! I wouldn't have thought it. She 
was always very queer with strangers, and wouldn’t have 
anything to do or .say with them. She must be changed 
since I knew her." 

** Poor thing! I feel so sorry for her. She has had a 
very lonely life, I fear." 

Miss Frith pursued her way in silence. 

Just before they reached the church, Rhoda asked, Do 
you know a Miss Montague who lives about here ? " 

‘‘You will see her in church," was the reply ; “she 
sits in the front seat under the pulpit. She has called at 
the office sometimes, but she has only settled in these parts 
for the last two years." 

The church was not very full, and Rhoda could not 
help letting her eyes stray to the front seat ; but there was 
nothing very noticeable in the figure there, except perhaps 
a briskness and alertness in the poise of the head, and in 
every motion of the body. As she came down the aisle 
after the service was over, Rhoda saw that she was com- 
paratively young in years, though her white hair, combed 
back over her broad, low brow, gave her at first sight an 
elderly appearance. She was quietly though stylishly 


A Gift 


57 


dressed, her dark eyes flashed and sparkled with anima- 
tion, and as she passed quickly out of the churchyard, 
and Rhoda watched her open a gate and disappear across 
a field, she said to herself, ‘‘I should like to know her. 
She is a woman of some character, I should say, and there 
is something very dainty and charming about her.” 

She had a solitary walk home, but she had been re- 
freshed and strengthened by the liturgy and hymns, if not 
by the sermon, which was delivered by a sleepy-looking 
curate, who seemed only too glad when he could pro- 
nounce the Benediction and get out of church and back 
to his own parish again. But Rhoda^s thoughts were 
busy; she was thinking of Miss Frith. She had felt in- 
stinctively that she was a good woman, but wondered how 
much joy and freedom she had in her religion, and then, 
when she remembered her past history, was ashamed of 
herself for judging her. 

I am certain of this, Hannah,” she said, when talking 
it over with her old servant afterwards, ‘‘that duty is a 
very strong principle with her. She has evidently lived a 
quiet, faithful life, keeping herself in the background, and 
serving and caring for all but herself. I admire her im- 
mensely, and only wish she would be more friendly with 
me. But I know it will be a work of time to gain her 
confidence.” 

Monday morning brought a letter from Edgar, saying 
he had sent the horse off, and it would arrive at Ashamp- 
ton about three in the afternoon ; and after a consultation 
with Hannah, Rhoda settled to take Jock down, and go to 
the station herself to meet it. 

“ I am glad we have got the stable ready for it. I am 


58 On the Edge of a Moor 

afraid the forage will be an expensive item in our house- 
keeping.’^ 

Yes, indeed it will, mum,” responded Hannah, with 
a solemn shake of her head ; ‘‘ and I don’t see that it will 
be of much use to us in the winter. You will be able to 
get some riding, but that’s about all.” 

‘‘ Oh, come now, we will work it more than that ! Jock 
can bring the coals and provisions up in our small cart 
which we have never used yet, instead of paying a man 
from Ashampton to do it, and our marketing can be done 
on a larger scale. We will not have to take so many 
journeys to the village. I am wishing at this present mo- 
ment for a groom to go to the station and bring the horse 
up without my troubling about it, but I put my pride in 
my pocket long ago, so I ought not to mind. I shall send 
Jock back with it, and then shall go on to see Mrs. 
Thatcher; so do not expect me home till late.” 

It was nearly six o’clock before she returned. Hannah 
was getting anxious, as it was a very dark evening. She 
had been herself to the stable, and seen that Jock had 
done all that was necessary for the welfare of the fresh 
arrival, which was a very beautiful black mare, looking 
far more fitted to carry a cavalry officer than to cart coals 
and vegetables up and down the moorside. 

‘‘But it’s just like Mr. Edgar,” Hannah muttered to 
herself, with another shake of her head. “ He spends his 
money freely, and without a thought. I wish he had sent 
a stout young donkey instead ; that would have been far 
more to the purpose.” Jock, hearing the soliloquy, put in 
his word. 

“ Hir be a old ’un ; the men at the station were lookin’ 
at ’un, an’ they openeth hir mouth an’ zed zo. Hir be 


A Gift 


59 


wonderful zteady ; rideth 'un up, an^ hir mouth baint 
hard neither, but 'tis the hills will do for she, an' she 
taketh hir time zurely ! " 

This information did not make Hannah more hopeful. 
When Jock was leaving for home, she made him take the 
lantern with him. 

You’ll meet the mistress coming up, and she’ll be in 
want of a light, and thankful to have it ; so don’t you 
miss her, whatever you do ! ” 

Very glad was the old servant when, later on, she saw 
the lantern returning. She met Rhoda with a relieved 
face. wonder what the gentlemen would say if they 
saw you, mum, tramping about the country at all sorts of 
hours.” 

** What a good thing it is that I’m an independent 
woman ! ” said Rhoda, with her bright laugh. Now, 
Hannah, I have a lot to tell you. Wait till I get my 
cloak off.” 

Have you had a cup of tea, mum? ” 

‘‘Yes; a very nice one. I want nothing till seven 
o’clock. Have you seen my horse ? Isn’t she a beauty ? ” 

Chatting away, Rhoda divested herself of her outer 
wraps, and then sank into her easy-chair by the fire with 
a sigh of content. “Now, Hannah, sit down: I can’t 
talk comfortably if you will persist in standing.” 

But this Hannah would never do ; the usual response 
came — “ I like standing best, mum; ” and so Rhoda had 
to let her have her way. 

“First of all, I managed very well at the station. On 
the platform, waiting for the London train, was Mr. 
Wallace. At first I wondered if I should speak to him, 
but seeing he recognized me, and being the only one on 


6o 


On the Edge of a Moor 


the platform besides himself, I spoke. He told me he had 
got on very well the other night, and reached the inn 
after tumbling into no less than three snowdrifts ! He 
seemed so grateful for our hospitality, but really we could 
not have done much less for him. And then I told him 
my errand at the station, and he kindly offered to see to 
everything for me, as his train did not leave till a quarter 
of an hour after the Aldershot one came in. It was such 
a relief to be able to put it into his hands. He seemed 
very well known at the station. I suppose he spends a 
good deal of his time with Mr. Rokeby. I think I 
showed my discomfiture at the first sight of the horse, for 
you know, Hannah, though she does look such a beauty, 
she is rather a contrast to the moor pony we talked of ! 
And I told him how it was. He asked me to let him 
know at any time if we wished to make an exchange, for 
Mr. Rokeby had a good deal to do with horses, and he 
might be able to help us. I replied very stifly that I 
would not dream of troubling Mr. Rokeby in the matter, 
and that no doubt one of the farmers would be able to 
effect the exchange. The foolish man looked rather hurt, 
so I told him frankly that I had not found Mr. Rokeby 
such an obliging landlord as to make me desirous of ask- 
ing him a favor. And then he wanted to know what he 
had done. Don’t look so solemn, Hannah ; it’s much 
best to say a thing straight out. I told him that I had 
never seen him personally, but his agent, with whom I 
had most to do, was one of the most disobliging men I had 
ever met, and if he did or said anything particularly dis- 
agreeable, he was sure to back it up by, ‘ It's Mr. Roke- 
by’s orders.’ And I told him Mr. Rokeby had the name 
of being a very hard and grasping landlord. Now doesn’t 


A Gift 


6i 


every one say that of him ? Was I wrong ? Well, of 
course I ought not to have been so free with my tongue. 
I felt so afterward, when it was too late, as he is a friend 
of his, but I really couldn’t help it. I am afraid he did 
not like it. He left me with a cold, curt bow, but I do 
not mind, for I only spoke the truth. 

I went on to the post office then. Mrs. Thatcher was 
expecting me. I couldn’t help wondering how she would 
like it if she knew I had been told her past history, but 
she chatted away as brightly as usual. I said to her, 
'Can you ever help Miss Frith in her business? It 
seems a good deal for her, single-handed.’ 'Yes, so it 
is,’ she said, with a smile; 'and when first I came I 
wanted her to let me, but she is one of those people who 
like to do everything themselves. I often wish, when the 
time seems so long in here, that I could have more occu- 
pation. The very people coming in and out make a stir 
and keep it lively. But I am quite shut away from it, 
and, after all, in winter the cold draughts would never 
do for me.’ 

" Well, we talked on ; she begged me to stay to tea, and 
so I did. Just before it was brought in by their little 
maid I got an opportunity of saying the word I wanted. 
We were talking about the church, and what a pity it was 
that there was no resident clergyman, and I asked if she 
did not feel sometimes the want of Christian teaching and 
help. She answered, ' As to that, I can’t say I miss it, 
for I never see the good of other people coming to preach 
to you as to what you ought to do, and what you oughtn’t. 
I’m not fond of interference at any time, and I’m not a 
drunkard to be converted to total abstinence, nor yet a 
great sinner to be talked into better ways.’ ' Of course,’ 


62 


On the Edge of a Moor 


I said, ' I think if we learn life’s lessons from the great 
Teacher Himself, we do not need any human being to 
teach us; but I must confess that as you like to have a 
chat with me to brighten the day, so I like to have a talk 
with others about the things that are dearest to my heart.’ 
‘ Are you very religious ? ’ she asked, with a surprised 
look. * I shouldn’t have thought so from your face.’ ‘ I 
am sorry I do not carry my colors well,’ I said. * Don’t 
I look religious? ’ * Oh, you’re too bright. You look as 

if you live without a care or thought of such things. Now, 
there’s Susan — she has always been religious — she sits up 
with her Bible in front of her on a Sunday, and looks fit 
to snap your head off if you venture to make a remark. 
She’s always been the good one in the family. Where 
right and wrong have come in, she’s always done the 
right. Poor dear John used to say, ‘‘Susan has such a 
high standard of things, I always feel below her. One 
has to stretch on tiptoe to understand her views of life ! ” 
But then religion has made a dismal work of her. I don’t 
profess much, but I’m a long sight happier than Susan is. 
My motto is, “ Make the best of things and slip along 
easy.” If religion is to make me as solemn and melan- 
choly as Susan, I’m far better without it.’ 

“ She said some more in the same strain. I could not 
help saying, ‘ I don’t think it is religion that has made 
your sister grave ; we can’t be all alike in temperament, 
and circumstances may have been against her. I think 
from what I have heard, she has always had great re- 
sponsibilities on her shoulders, and has been the one to 
manage for others. She may have troubles of her own 
that do not appear on the surface.’ I saw this was not 
palatable to Mrs. Thatcher, so I added, ‘ I am defending 


A Gift 


63 


religion, you must remember. True religion, a life lived 
in communion with God, is one of the brightest and most 
joyous experiences that any one could wish for.* I could 
not say more, for tea came in, and then Miss Frith ap- 
peared. — Am I tiring you, Hannah ? Shall I stop? ** 

** No, indeed, mum,** was the hearty reply. ** I always 
pray for you when you go a-visiting, because I know what 
you want to be at.** 

<< < My Father*s business,* ** said Rhoda, softly, as she 
gazed into the glowing coals before her ; I ought to be 
at it every day, but it seems so difficult. Well, we had 
a cosy tea, hot muffins and watercress ! Miss Frith was 
at first quite silent, and seemed to be always listening for 
the shop-bell, but no one came to disturb us. I told them 
a little about myself ; they liked to hear it, and we had a 
nice time. Miss Frith decidedly thawed, and once she 
smiled, and her face was quite transfigured by it. I feel 
now that I have really made friends with them. Miss 
Frith gave me quite a warm hand-shake when I came 
away. I wonder if she will greet me just as grimly to- 
morrow morning when I go down for the letters ! Han- 
nah, do you know what my last idea is? Don*t purse up 
your lips like that, but listen ! I should like to build a 
tiny greenhouse against one side of the house here, and 
then I could have some flowers all the winter, and could 
take some with me when I go visiting. Flowers are always 
appreciated. Do you think we could manage it? ** 

“ It would take a lot of money, mum, and how would 
you keep it warm ? ** 

Oh, some hot pipes, I suppose, and a small furnace. 
Do you think it would be extravagant ? ** 


64 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** I’m thinking the first storm would shatter it to pieces 
up here. Think of the wind last week.” 

** But our windows stood it. It would have to be made 
very strong, of course, with perhaps some big shutters. I 
wonder how much it would cost. I could ask Mr. Crake, 
only he is so glum. I think I will get a carpenter from 
the village, and plan it myself. I will inquire in Ash- 
ampton to-morrow.” 

Hannah said no more. She felt her young mistress 
did not yet know how little could be done with ;^i3o a 
year; she had been so accustomed to have everything 
done for her in her old home, that she had hardly dis- 
covered the difference in her circumstances ; but the old 
servant wisely concluded that experience would be her 
best teacher. 


CHAPTER VI 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

Every week Rhoda wrote to one or two of her brothers. 
She was determined to keep up her interest in all their 
different lives, especially now that they were so scattered. 
We may gather something of her life from the following 
letter to Rodney : — 

My dear Rodney, 

I always feel in writing to you that I can describe the details 
of my life better than to any of the others, for you know my sur- 
roundings so well. I am quite settled down now, and am thor- 
oughly enjoying myself. VVould you like an account of my day? 
But first let me tell you of my live stock. Of course Tartar need 
not be mentioned, though I find him quite a companion. I have a 
dear little brown cow that I have named Ginger, and she already 
allows me to pet and stroke her ; two black pigs ; ten hens and one 
cock ; three ducks ; a large black cat ; and, lastly, a beautiful black 
mare name Sultana, who only arrived from Aldershot a short time 
ago. She is a present from Edgar, and I took my first ride on her 
to-day. She is a beauty ; her age is the only thing against her, but 
I can detect little feebleness in her movements, and she is very sure- 
footed. 

Now to give you an idea of how I live. I am called at 6.30, and 
generally go into the dairy for half an hour or so before breakfast, 
as I make all the butter. At half-past eight I have breakfast, then 
prayers with Hannah, and go out to the chicks. I feed them, and 
potter round, and start the boy with his morning’s work. My gar- 
den is still a great toil ; he has been getting the ground into right 
condition for potatoes and all sorts of vegetables, but I discover that 
he wants an eye over him. He is a steady boy, but as stupid and 
dense as can be. The other day he was resting on his spade, and 
gazing up into the air with open eyes and mouth. 

“ What are you thinking about ? ” I asked him. 

A’ baint thinkin’ nought. A’ were conzeiderin o’ her, when she 
telleth me to fetch the hoss zome water firzt thing. A’ hath not 
fetched ’un.” 

“ Go and do it at once then.” 

5 


(65) 


66 


On the Edge of a Moor 


He took quite five minutes before he saw the necessity for this. I 
wonder how his mind works ! This is a digression. 

At ten o’clock I go down to Ashampton for my letters, and gener- 
ally do my marketing at the same time. I must tell you I am going 
to send some butter to the market every week. I have found a nice 
old woman who has a stall there, and I am going to give her a little 
percentage on all she sells for me. When the spring comes I shall 
send down eggs, and as my poultry increases I shall kill some of 
them, and do likewise. I think it is the first winter that will be the 
most expensive one. My last idea has been to put up a greenhouse, 
but when I inquired I found it would cost too much, and these 
country people are so slow that I believe it would take a year to 
build. I have been looking into my accounts, and am alarmed at 
the amount I have spent already. When I return from the post I 
help Hannah in the housework for a little, and then sit down to my 
writing till lunch comes at one o’clock. I very often go into the 
kitchen in the afternoon and make cakes or bread, and let Hannah 
have a rest. She will do so much, and will allow me to do so little, 
that I am having constant contentions with her about it. I gener- 
ally go out in the afternoon. I am gradually getting to know my 
neighbors, and am making friends with all I meet. I often laugh 
as I wonder what some of you boys would say if you saw me drink- 
ing tea and gossiping with the postmistress or farmers’ wives about 
here ! But, do you know, I find their conversation much more edi- 
fying than the ordinary gossip of society. At 4.30, if I am in, I 
milk Ginger ; I like to do it if I can once a day ; then I see that 
Jock has shut up the stable safely for the night. I have my after- 
noon tea, and for the rest of the evening I occupy myself with books 
and music. My dinner, as Hannah will call it, is at seven. 

It is quite an old maid’s life, isn’t it ? But oh, how I am getting 
to love the moor ! If you could only stand with me sometimes and 
see some of our wintry sunsets, and watch the soft purple outlines 
of the different Tors gradually deepen and darken against the golden 
background ; if you could look down the valley to the other side and 
see the lights and shadows on the wooded hills, and note the brown 
and golden tints on the low-lying marsh land by the river that winds 
like a silver streak of light at the bottom ; and then up at the vast 
expanse of sky where every variety of form and color meets your 
eye in the succession of clouds that drift past you — sometimes it may 
be the soft fleecy ones, sometimes the wild dark waves that come 
sweeping by, heralding the coming storm —oh, I think you would 
agree with me that even winter on the moor is grand ! What the 
spring will be I cannot imagine, but I am keenly looking forward to 
it. I have had some rose trees planted in the garden, and fresh 
shrubs put in front of the house. I wonder how you are getting on 
yourself. Write and tell me of all your doings. You and I will be 
able to compare farm and housekeeping notes. And you won’t for- 


A Friend in Need 


67 


get in your busy life the things we were talking about before you 
left. “ In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy 
paths.” I have found it a wonderful help to me. You will say that 
“Tabby always ends up with a preach.” Good-bye. May God 
bless and watch over you. Your loving sister, 

Rhoda. 

Jess Tent came over the following Sunday, and Rhoda, 
after much silent prayer, strove to make the Bible lesson 
interesting to her. She found it hard work. Jess’s eyes 
were rolling round the room most of the time, and with 
difficulty she suppressed several yawns. At last, to 
Rhoda’s consternation, when she hoped she was really lis- 
tening, a quick drop of the head and heavy breathing told 
that she was fast asleep. She woke up very much ashamed 
of herself a few minutes after, but Rhoda felt it had effec- 
tually quenched the Bible reading, and, if she had not been 
rather a strong-minded young woman, would have shed 
tears of disappointment at the apparent failure of her effort. 

** It’s so dreadful comfortable here,” said poor Jess, by 
way of apology, '^and I have a way of napping in the 
afternoon, if I’m not doing anything particular.” 

Never mind,” said Rhoda, cheerfully; wish I 
could make it as interesting to you as I find it myself. I 
suppose it is like this. Imagine me reading some letters 
from a great friend of mine to you. Well, you wouldn’t 
be as interested in them as I should, for my friend would 
be a stranger to you ; but if you were to meet that friend 
and get very fond of her, and she of you, when she had 
gone away again, you would look forward to having and 
hearing letters from her with very different feelings, 
wouldn’t you? ” 

‘‘That I should; ” and Jess’s tone showed she was in- 
terested now. 


68 


On the Edge of a Moor 


'^And that is just how it is with our Saviour. Ah, 
Jess, if you would only take Him as your friend and get 
to know Him, you would have such joy in your life. He 
died for you. He loves you, and He wants to have you in 
His fold. I have found Him such a friend to me, and 
He will be the same to you.’* 

Jess looked into the fire before her, but did not speak. 

** And if you know Him,” continued Rhoda, softly, 
** you will love and enjoy His Word. It will make the 
Bible a new book to you.” 

There was no time for further talk, for tea was brought 
in, and Jess, thoroughly roused now, brightened up and 
chatted away on different subjects. She changed her 
book and took away another, but before leaving said, — 

I should like to come next Sunday, and may I bring 
one of the boys with me? He would be very good, 
and he would like it so.” 

Bring two of them if they can manage the walk, I 
shall be delighted to see them.” 

When she had gone Rhoda went to her bedroom, for 
her heart was heavy, and, kneeling down, she prayed 
earnestly that the Holy Spirit Himself would convince 
Jess of her need of a Saviour. 

‘‘It is very good for me to have these failures,” she 
said to herself; “ if I should have nothing but success, I 
might get uplifted, and think it was my own powers that 
were attracting and influencing them. I can pray the 
more earnestly for her, and I will do that.” 

A few days after this she was down in Ashampton in 
the afternoon, and when she had done her business she 
went to the post office to post a parcel. 

Miss Frith looked so utterly woebegone and miserable 


A Friend in Need 69 

that Rhoda said at once, ** You are not well, I am sure. 
What is the matter ? 

Nothing particular, only the faceache,*’ was the dry 
reply. 

‘^Oh, you poor thing, I am so sorry ! Can^t you do 
anything for it? 

** It is a tooth that I must have drawn. I didn^t have 
a wink of sleep last night. Then she added, in a more 
friendly tone, ‘‘Well, I must bear it. I can’t leave the 
shop to go and have it out. I must wait till next week. 
There’s a young girl next door at the draper’s, who has 
obliged me sometimes by stepping in and taking my place 
for a short time. She is away on a holiday ; when she 
comes back I’ll go.” 

“ But does your sister never take your place ? Couldn’t 
she just for half an hour or so? ” 

“ Lucy is delicate, and she has never been accustomed 
to do business.” 

There was no bitterness in her tone. One of Miss 
Frith’s good traits was that she would never disparage her 
sister to any one. 

“ Is there a dentist here? ” asked Rhoda, quickly. 

“ Mr. Thorpe the chemist — he is very good at teeth. 
He has taken out one for me before.” 

“ Well, look here ! You let me take your place for a 
little ! I can spare the time. It is misery for you to go 
on like this. Now do let me; I will be very careful. 
And you will not be gone long if you go at once.” 

Miss Frith looked astonished, then said doubtfully, “It 
is very good of you, but I don’t think I ought to let you.” 

“Oh, nonsense! I shall enjoy it immensely. I have 
never kept shop before, but I’m sure I can do it.” 


70 


On the Edge of a Moor 


‘‘After all, there may not be a customer that will come 
in. Some afternoons I get no one, and I shall be back 
before post-time. It would be a great relief to me ; I al- 
most think I might go.*^ 

“ That is right. You will feel ever so much better 
after it is over. Now will you explain a little to me 
where you keep the things.'' 

This Miss Frith did, but just before starting she said, 
with a dismayed look, “You don't understand working 
the telegraph, do you ? " 

“No, indeed I don't, but I'm sure you don't send or 
get many telegrams here. It is not likely that, in the short 
time you will be away, I shall be called upon for that." 

“No," Miss Frith replied, in a reassured tone, “I 
don't suppose I send off a telegram once in a week, and 
I receive one as seldom. I shall be as quick as I can, and 
you must tell any one, if they especially want to see me, 
that I shall be back directly. And I haven't told Lucy I 
am going or that you are here. I thought it might fuss 
her." 

She went, and Rhoda seated herself behind the small 
counter, very amused at the part she was going to play. 
No one came in for some time, and then it was a small 
boy demanding a “penn'orth of paper" and a stamp. 
Whilst she was serving him, she was startled by the 
sudden entrance of Mr. Wallace, who, seizing hold of a 
telegraph form, began hastily to write upon it without 
noticing the absence of the postmistress. 

“There," he said shortly, handing it across the counter 
without looking up, “send that off at once, please." 

Certainly it is very often that the unlikely things do 
happen, and Rhoda' s heart sank from the moment she 


A Friend in Need 


71 


noted his hurried entrance. For a minute she was 
speechless, and glancing up impatiently, he recognized 
her, and at once raised his hat, looking intensely be- 
wildered as he did so. 

** 1 am so sorry, Rhoda said, recovering her self-pos- 
session, ** but the postmistress has just gone out. She will 
be back shortly, and as she is a friend of mine, I offered 
to take her place. I am dreadfully sorry — here her 
voice faltered — but I don't understand the working of 
the telegraph. Can this wait until her return ? ** 

**lt is most urgent." 

A cloud had settled on his brow, but it cleared quickly. 

Do you think I might be allowed to send it myself? 
I have not knocked about all over the world for nothing. 
May I come behind this affair? Thanks" — as Rhoda 
gladly made way for him — ‘Miow I shall be able to 
manage." 

He evidently was no novice in the art of telegraphy, 
from the rapid way he executed his message ; and then 
he handed the form to Rhoda to scan, as the telegram 
was a long one. She gave the required stamps in a busi- 
ness-like fashion, and he watched her with an amused 
gleam in his eyes. 

‘‘I certainly do meet you in unexpected places, Miss 
Carlton. How is your horse ? " 

‘‘Very satisfactory for riding, thank you." 

“ Have you put him in harness yet ? " 

“ No ; we are going to try next week." 

“And are you going to do any hunting with him this 
winter?" 

Rhoda laughed. 

“ No, I haven't come down here to hunt.*’ 


72 


On the Edge of a Moor 


He looked as if he would like to ask her what she had 
come for. She added, I don’t think my mare would be 
up to hunting ; she is not so young as she was. Don’t 
you find the moor rather treacherous riding? There 
seem to be so many bogs.” 

‘‘A great many, and unless you know how the land 
lies, you may often find yourself in one of them before 
you know where you are.” 

He turned to go, then added, ‘*By-the-by, you may 
be pleased to hear that Mr. Rokeby has reconsidered the 
peat question, and the Tents may go on using it as they 
have done heretofore.” 

Rhoda’s face brightened with pleasure. 

‘‘That is good news indeed. I am so much obliged to 
you for mentioning the matter to him.” 

“ At the same time I may give you a friendly hint that 
Mr. Rokeby is not fond of interference between himself 
and the tenants.” 

“I am quite aware of that,” said Rhoda, calmly; 
“ but if I see wrongs that might be righted, I shall always 
raise my voice in protest, and I should tell Mr. Rokeby 
so himself were I to see him.” 

“ Perhaps you are better qualified for that role than for 
that of postmistress,” was the retort, given with twinkling 
eyes; and, bidding her “Good afternoon,” Mr. Wallace 
went his way, leaving her half chagrined, half amused at 
his words. 

The next customer was an old countryman in smock- 
frock and leather gaiters, but when he saw Rhoda he 
looked very perplexed, and rubbed his fingers through his 
hair in a bewildered fashion. 

“Baint the missus in ? ” 


A Friend in Need 73 

‘‘She will be here very soon. Can I do anything for 
you, or would you rather wait? 

“ Her have wrote a letter for us on occasions.’^ 

“I think I can manage that if you will let me,’^ said 
Rhoda, very gently. He looked doubtfully at her, then 
pulled out of his pocket half a crown. 

“ A’ be after one o* they money orders to zend to our 
zon Tom. He be awful zick in 'Mericky, an’ t’ old wo- 
man an a’ want ’un to go by the night’s post ! ” 

“I see. Now will you sit down and tell me what to 
say ? ’ ’ 

“ The missus here cood allays put ’un well for a’ wi’out 
a many words from a’ ! Her be a brave zcholar ! ” 

He took out his red cotton handkerchief, mopped his 
head well, and then sat down. After some consideration, 
he continued, “ Tell ’un as us have heerd from his missis, 
an’ thank her kindly for what she have a-written. Her 
be a good missis to ’un, an’ us be vairly well conzeiderin’ 
all things, an’ Jenny she be out to zarvice, an’ t’ old 
woman zends her love, an’ us be hopin’ to hear ’un make 
a good end. He were a good little lad at home, an’ us’ 11 
grieve a’ter ’un zadly. But us must all die when our time 
do come. The half-croon’ll maybe cheer of ’un up. An’ 
us hopeth he'll make a good end.” The old man paused, 
drew his cuff across his eyes, and then watched Rhoda’ s 
pen fly over the paper with anxiety. 

At last she looked up. 

“ May I tell him how to make a good end ? ” she asked 
softly. 

“Eh? A’ be hard o’ heerin’. Tom were a good lad, 
’un were ; he knawed his ABC when he were but vour 
year old, an’ went to Zunday zchool, an’ the Cateky were 


74 


On the Edge of a Moor 


no trouble to ’un, right bravely did Vun zay it ! A' be 
lookin* for *un to do his dooty, an* us be hopin* he’ll go 
eazy like.” 

If he knows his Saviour, and trusts in Him for for- 
giveness, I think he will make a good end.” 

‘^Ay, ay” — for Rhoda’s clear, distinct voice had made 
itself heard — ’ee can put ’un in a tex’. A’ did go to 
chapel once on a toime, an’ a tex’ be a brave thing fur a 
man on the deathbed.” 

Rhoda sighed as she finished her task. 

‘‘ Is there no hope for him ? ” she asked. 

The old man pulled out the letter. 

Jenny were to home lazt week, an’ her did read ’un 
to we. Tom be vurry zick, as ’ee can zee ! ” 

It was with difficulty that Rhoda could decipher the 
badly written epistle, but she gathered from it that the old 
man was only too right in his supposition that his son was 
dying. 

Do you live far from here? ” was her next question. 

Up on moor yonder. Do ’ee know Hazel Varm ? ” 

‘‘No; at least I think I have heard the Tents speak 
of it.” 

“ ’Tis this zide o’ the Tents’, doan agen a sma’ copse 
over the railway cooting.” 

“I know,” Rhoda said brightly; “it is a little black 
house. I have seen it. May I come and see your wife 
one day ? I should like to so much.” 

“Be ’ee one o’ the missus’ vrends here?” he asked, 
glancing at her furtively. “If zo be ’ee’re a respectibble 
young pusson a’ don’t mind a-zeein’ of ’ee agen; the old 
woman, her be vurry vond o’ visitors if zo be they be 
zteady an’ zober volk.” 


A Friend in Need 


75 


think I am respectable and sober/’ Rhoda said 
modestly, trying to restrain a smile. ‘‘ Now do you want 
a stamp? That will be a penny, and a penny for the 
order. Thank you. Would you like to put the stamp 
on ? ” 

He stood up, and with his trembling old work-worn 
hand drew the letter to him, and squaring his elbow bent 
mind and body to the task before him. The perspiration 
stood out on his brow with the effort, and then his old 
head shook solemnly from side to side. 

‘‘A’ hope as how he’ll make a good end ! ” he repeated. 

Rhoda felt the pathos in his tone, and looking up, she 
saw his old eyes full of tears. Her own filled with sym- 
pathy, and she laid her hand gently on his arm. 

Ask God that he may,” she said. 

He shook his head again. 

‘‘The parson doeth zo. A’ baint a good hand at 
prayer. A’ knoweth a man that cood pray winderful — 
Zam Black ; he were a deal over an hour in chapel one 
night over the prayer ; but there, my old woman an’ me, 
us be var too old to learn noo ! ” 

“Let us speak to God here,” Rhoda said; and bend- 
ing her head and clasping the old withered hands in hers, 
in a few short, simple words she commended the dying 
son to God’s most loving keeping. 

The old man gazed at her in astonishment, ejaculated, 
“Umun!” and departed muttering to himself, “She be 
a winderful pious young pusson ; the parson coodn’t ’a 
done it better, but there warn’t much on ’un. It were 
too short for good. If it had a bin Zam Black noo ! 
There warn’t much on ’un.” 


CHAPTER VII 


ROBIN AND POLL 

Miss Frith returned a few minutes after the old man’s 
departure ; she had been successful in having the bad 
tooth out, and was very grateful to Rhoda. 

‘‘I should like to send you straight to bed, and give 
you a nice cup of tea, or something hot to make you 
sleep,” said Rhoda. *‘If only I was capable of taking 
your place I would stay on, and go home after the shop is 
closed.” 

Miss Frith smiled, tired and exhausted as she was. 

You’ve been a good friend to me to-day,” she said, 
‘‘ and I shall be all right soon. I have very good health 
as a rule — one of my mercies, I suppose.” 

Then Rhoda related her experiences, and laughed 
merrily at Miss Frith’s dismay when she heard of the 
telegram. 

I don’t know who Mr. Wallace may be, but Mr. 
Rokeby has gentlemen friends staying with him at this 
time for the hunting. The old man is Robin Day; he 
and his wife have a hard struggle to live, half a crown is 
a good deal for them to spare. He has a few sheep and 
pigs, and comes in with vegetables to sell on market-days. 
It isn’t often he pays me a visit any other day. But, dear 
me ! I’m sorry about the telegram. I hope he wasn’t put 
out. I really must never leave again.” 

‘‘Will you teach me the telegraph code, and then I 
(76) 


Robin and Poll 


77 


shall be able to relieve you occasionally ? I am in earnest. 
I am very quick at getting hold of new things generally, 
though I say it that shouldn’t ! And I can’t bear things 
to master me. I like to know and be able to do every- 
thing.” 

But Miss Frith would not promise this, and Rhoda took 
her leave. Her heart was full as she walked up the steep 
hillside home. ' Poor old Robin’s ignorance and apathy 
had touched and distressed her greatly, and she longed to 
be able to bring light into his soul. Earnestly did she 
ask to be used in this way, and with prayer and thoughts 
the walk back seemed shorter than usual. 

She was not long before she visited old Robin and his 
wife. It was a crisp frosty afternoon when she set out, 
and the fresh bracing air had a most exhilarating effect on 
Tartar, who raced to and fro in high glee. It was a long 
walk, and once or twice she found herself in some boggy 
places which delayed her progress, but at last she reached 
the cottage. It was more like a wooden shanty than any- 
thing else ; an irregular stone wall surrounded it, and a 
little group of stunted trees and bramble bushes, which 
went by the name of the copse, formed a shelter from the 
wind across the moor. Just below it was a deep railway 
cutting, and a little further on a small farm. 

The door was opened to her by the old man himself, 
who did not seem to recognize her at first, but when he 
did, begged her to come in. It was a neat little kitchen, 
and in the chimney corner, on an old-fashioned settle, 
was seated his wife. Rhoda was struck with her clean 
and quaint appearance. She wore a close-fitting, white 
frilled cap, stiff with starch, and her wrinkled face looked 
out of it, a picture of cheery content ; a very short, blue 


78 


On the Edge of a Moor 


serge skirt showed a neatly clad pair of feet in coarse grey 
worsted stockings and stout country boots, and a large 
white apron and bright red cross-over completed her attire. 

‘‘Poll,** said the old man, going eagerly forward and 
indicating the visitor by a backward gesture of his thumb, 
“this be the young pusson down in toon — her madeth 
that short bit o* prayer so sudden like that a* telled *eeof.** 
“ Glad to see you, me dear. Sit down ’longside o’ me. 
Robin an* me do take a bit o* rest in the arternoons, an* 
us be vurry glad to see a visitor. This be a terrible lonely 
place in the winter. Be you a-livin* near ? ** 

“Not many miles away. I am up on the moor too, 
and I love it.** 

“Ay, ay, the moor be a vine stretch o* coon try, so it 
be ; an* wouldn’t the Lunnon volks be pleased to have it 
in their big city ! Ever bin* to Lunnon toon, me dear, or 
eithermore you ain’t? ** 

“Yes,” Rhoda said, smiling, “but I was glad to get 
away from it. I don’t like towns.” 

“ Ay, ay, but when I were a young maid I be sent up 
there, an* I meeteth my virst husband over yonner. I’ve 
had vour on ’em, me dear; an* Robin he cometh last, an* 
he be the best o* they all ! ” 

She nodded across at the old man, who rubbed his old 
hands together with a pleased chuckle. She continued, — 
“There were Ned Blake, he were a peart an* likely a 
lad, but were weak on the chest ; us were married in 
Lunnon, an* baided there for two year ; then he took on 
ill, an* coughed hisself away to an early grave. An* his 
tombstone were put over he by his uncle, who did it 
grand, for he did have a shop o* his own, an* sold fish to 
the quality. I mindeth the words o* it noo — ‘ Edward 


Robin and Poll 


79 


Blake. Aged twenty-vive. Not lost, but gone before.* 
Ned were a good lad to me, but he were too weakly to be 
o* much service. Then there were Harry Carter. I 
cometh doon to home agin, which were nigh Exeter, an* 
he were as smart a man that ever were in the baking trade. 
Him an* mesel*, us set up for ourselves arter us be wedded, 
an’ they loaves of his’n were foine. I smelleth ’em a* 
most noo, an’ when Robin do bring the bread from toon, 
I taketh a sniff wi’ me nose an* saith ofttimes that it 
mindeth me o* Harry’s bread. Ay, I do, Robin, don’t 
I ? Es fay, us were wedded six year ; but he did take to 
the drink, an’ I had a fearful time on’t; ’twas the business 
agoing doon, an’ the drink that dooed it — an’ I lost me 
two childer, an’ his horse runneth away wi* he, an* 
pitched of him oot, an* he were a-carried back to me wi* 
a broken collar-boon, an* he were in the churchyard a 
week arter. I were well a-rid o’ he, but it were a sad pity, 
an* he were sich a smart man when virst I a-knowed him. 
Tim Booth coometh a*coortin* me two weeks arter the 
funeral, but I wouldn*t ha’ nought to say to he in me 
widder’s deep black. Tim had wanted me afore, but he 
were not so smart an’ illegant like Harry ; he were cross- 
eyed, an* I a- flouted him. But arter two or three month 
it were very dull at home, an’ mother her kep* on a-say- 
ing, * ’Tis to zarvice you’m best be goin*, Polly.* So 
saith I one day, * I goeth into Tim’s zarvice, *tis that will 
soot the best ; ’ an* our banns were called, an* us were 
man an’ wife in vour weeks from that day. I hath not 
much to tell agen Tim; he were a terrible steady chap, a 
mourning sort o’ man wi’ his head allays dandyin’ doon, 
an* he were great at releegion — winderful pious he were ! 
He thought a heap o* his chapel, an* were class-leader ; 


8o 


On the Edge of a Moor 


but ay, ay, he were too pious for me, an* he wouldn*t 
have a laugh wi* me, an* I gotted that moped I runneth 
home to mother once, but she giveth me such a talkin* 
that I did get back quicker nor I came, an* we did pull 
togither peaceable till he taketh ill o* a complaint they do 
call rheumaty vever, an* then he goeth into churchyard 
same as t*others. I mindeth us did have a beautiful 
funeral, there were all the village to bury him — *twas so 
respected he were. Tim he left me a bit o* money, for 
he were a carpenter, an* had saved ; an* then I goeth to 
baide wi* me married sister, an* Robin he were on a varrn 
close by. That were vorty year ago coom this Christmas, 
an’ us have baided all those year wi’out a mummur ! ** 
Wi’out a mummur ! ** echoed old Robin, as he looked 
across at her with fond eyes. ^‘Ah, but her were a 
pretty maid when a* virst coorted she ! ** 

The white cap seemed to grow several inches taller at 
this, and then Rhoda asked if they had heard any fresh 
tidings about their son. 

A sigh came from the old woman. 

Ay, ay, me dear, it be a sore trial ; he were me only 
boy, an* sich a brave lad he were, but us coodn’t keep 
him to home. Oot to ’Mericky he must go, an* he gotted 
on a farm an* dooed right well, an* wedded all in a twel* 
month ; an* noo he be a-dyin*, an* his old mother can’t 
smooth his pillow out an* watch his last breath. Us will 
not have a letter agen for a long spell, shall us, Robin ? ** 
The old man shook his head. 

^‘Us be gettin* into years,” his talkative wife continued, 
‘‘but us be winderful stirrin* still, an* the childer have 
not to keep us. Jenny her be doin’ well, an* now an* 
agen her sendeth us some o* her airnins; but Robin he be 


Robin and Poll 


8i 


a dreadvul worker. He getteth up at vive of a inornin*, 
an’ he diggeth the taters up, an’ tendeth to the sheep, an’ 
cleaneth the kitchen out afore I getteth oot o’ me bed. 
But I stirreth round when I be up, an’ I wash an’ starch 
me caps every second day, an’ hath a big wash a fort- 
night; an’ I liketh not dust an’ dirt, so I’m allays a wipin’ 
an’ cleanin’. Did you see our stone wall, me dear ? All 
on’t Robin putteth up, an’ all a-done of hisself. He 
picketh up the stones off the moor and buildeth like a 
mason vor sure ! ” 

So she chatted on, now and then appealing to her hus- 
band, and Rhoda found that she was not wanted to do 
more than listen. She asked them if they could read, but 
Robin shook his head. 

** My old woman did a-used to, her did, afore her eyes 
wanted glasses. A’ did get zome vor she, an’ they were 
zmashed the week arter. A’ just satted doon on ’un, a’ 
did; an’ times is bad — very bad — an’ us never hath bin 
able to buy zome agen.” 

** I wonder if you would like me to read you a little 
before I go, about a poor blind man that I have here ? ” 

And receiving two nods in assent, Rhoda took her 
Testament out of her pocket, and read the account of 
Bartimaeus, explaining in simple language a few of the 
lessons it taught. They listened, and when she had 
finished, the old woman said, — 

** That be vurry nice, me dear. You speaketh proper 
— us be pleased to hear you.” 

** Ay,” muttered old Robin, her be a winderful pious 
young pusson ! ” 

Rhoda could not help smiling, though she felt nearer cry- 
ing. How could she get at these sleeping, frozen hearts ! 

6 


82 


On the Edge of a Moor 


When she left them, after promising to come and see 
them again, her heart sank within her, and when she ar- 
rived home she went straight into the kitchen to Hannah, 
and started that worthy woman by saying emphatically, — 
I believe now more than ever I did in the terrors of the 
law being preached. I can understand the doctrine of hell 
fire and doom and judgment being essential to awaken 
some dead souls. You speak of the love of Christ, and 
they hug themselves and smile, * Ay, ay. He be merci- 
ful ! ^ You speak of sin — ‘ Ay, ay. He won’t be hard on 
us ! ’ Oh, Hannah, what can I do to wake these people up ? 
I never dreamed they would be so apathetic and dense.” 

^‘It’s the beginning that is hardest, mum ; you came 
here because they were such heathen. The soil is hard, 
but the farmer breaks it up with his plough, and he don’t 
expect to see corn at this time of the year.” 

Jess and her two little nephews arrived the next Sunday, 
and in telling Bible stories to the children, Rhoda found 
that Jess was far more interested than she had been the 
Sunday before. I was above her head,” she confided to 
Hannah afterwards; there is something remarkably 
childlike about her, though sometimes her intelligence 
fairly startles me. She not only listened this afternoon, 
but asked several questions and volunteered additional ex- 
planations of her own to the boys. I shall not despair of 
winning her yet.” 

Christmas came and went very quietly. Rhoda was so 
entreated to spend it with some of her brothers in London, 
that she went up to her uncle’s house for three days. She 
had to stand a great deal of chaffing and criticism from all 
assembled there, but she bore it with calm equanimity. 

I am happy,” she said, and Hannah is too. I have 


Robin and Poll 


83 


everything I want and a wide field to work in, so you can 
laugh away. When the spring comes I shall invite some 
of you down, and you will end by envying my snug little 
house.’* 

‘‘How many of us can you put up?” questioned Ed- 
mund. “ You are liberal with your invitations, but unless 
we sleep in the pigsty or the stable, I don’t know how 
you’re going to find room for us.” 

“ I am afraid I can only put up one at a time, so you 
must take it in turns. I shall ask Howard first.” 

“Many thanks. Tabby. I shall be glad and thankful 
to get out of town by that time, I expect. I feel like a 
fish out of water here.” 

“ He is afraid of the frogs,” laughed Edmund. “ I 
met him in the City the other day, and he would hardly 
vouchsafe me a word ; he was so occupied in keeping his 
mouth shut, to say nothing of a silk handkerchief wound 
round up to his ears.” 

“ And do you go careering all over the moor on your 
black horse like a wild gipsy ? ” inquired her uncle. “ It 
is too unconventional a life for a young woman, and I am 
surprised at your brothers allowing it.” 

“I am not so very young now,” Rhoda said; “you 
forget how the years pass. I am not a mere schoolgirl, 
uncle ! ” 

“ I do trust that you have your clergyman’s sanction to 
all the visiting that you seem to be doing,” Herbert said, 
with concern. 

Rhoda’s laugh rang out merrily. “ I have no clergy- 
man,” she said. “ If I were to start a Sunday service in 
my kitchen, Bertie, would that be heresy and schism? 
Because I am thinking of it. And, uncle, I assure you, no 


84 


On the Edge of a Moor 


one could live a quieter and more staid and respectable 
life than I am doing.” 

‘‘ Ah well, you will get tired of it in a few months* 
time,’* her uncle said, resignedly. ^‘Novelty always has 
a charm to young people.” 

And most of Rhoda’s friends were of the same opinion. 
Not long after she had been back, she discovered another 
little outlying farm a mile or two away. An old woman 
and her son lived in it, and they seemed in a miserable 
condition. The poor woman broke down and sobbed like 
a child when telling Rhoda her troubles. The son, 
Nathan Cobb by name, was very much away from home, 
sometimes selling his vegetables and poultry in neighbor- 
ing villages, and old Mrs. Cobb seemed to till their little 
patch of ground, and do all the farm work out of doors as 
well as in. The house itself was sadly in need of repairs, 
the roof letting the rain in, and the flooring quite broken up. 
Who is your landlord? ” asked Rhoda. 

Mr. Rokeby ; ay, an’ he be a hard ’un. Mr. Crake 
were aroond here last week, an’ he zayeth if us don’t pay 
the rent by nex’ Moonday us must quit ! A’ knoweth us 
be a bit late wi’ it, but ’tis the times be so bad, an* try as 
us can, us zeemeth not to be able to zave. Two o’ our 
coos have gotted the plague and died this las’ zummer, 
an’ a’ have bin sick o’ the ’fluenzy mysel’, an’ it do zeem 
zometimes that it must be the Union for a’ ! A’ never 
thought to zee zich days ; a’d work my fingys to the boon, 
a’ would, to keep a hoose over ourn heads, but work as 
a* doeth, the varm don’t pay, an’ us shall be put to doors.” 

** But what a disgraceful state the buildings are in ! 
Surely Mr. Rokeby would repair it for you ? ” 

’Tisn’t he that’ll lift his little vinger for zich as we ! 


Robin and Poll 


8s 


A've tramped over the moor to zee \m, an’ begged ’un 
to give us time — leastways a’ zeed Mr. Crake. Mr. 
Rokeby were away — and he zayeth us must do our oon 
repair, an’ he knowed us have not a bit o’ siller to do it. 
A’m zure the way the last znow a-cometh through on my 
bed in yonner corner, there were enough to kill a healthy 
woman an’ bury her right off, let ’lone me that be allays 
troubled with rheumatiz ! If so be Mr. Rokeby would 
wait till the zummer cometh round, us could pay off then ; 
it be the loss of the coos have putted us in zich ztraits ! ” 

Rhoda sympathized with her, left her some money, and 
went home in an indignant frame of mind. 

shall write to Mr. Rokeby, Hannah,” she said, 
dashing into the kitchen impetuously, and pouring out the 
story into her ears; don’t care if he likes it or not. 
She seemed such a clean, tidy woman, with such a sad 
face ; she just looks as if she would work until she drops. 
He might have a little more consideration than to talk of 
turning them adrift in the winter time.” 

And going hastily to her writing-table, she penned the 
following letter : — 

Dear Sir, 

I do not think you can know the circumstances of Mrs. Cobb 
and her son, or your agent would not talk so heartlessly of turning 
them out. I also think you cannot be aware of the state of the farm 
buildings. The house is not fit for human beings to live in. Mrs. 
Cobb has tried to see you about it. Mr. Crake gives her to under- 
stand that you absolutely refuse to undertake any repairs. I hardly 
think this can be the case. May I beg of you to inquire into the 
matter ? Mrs. Cobb has told me that illness and the loss of a couple 
of their cows is the cause of their present poverty, and if you will 
give them a little more time they will endeavor to make up the re- 
quired rent. I will be answerable myself for a quarter’s rent ; I do 
not know exactly how much is due. Hoping you will deal leniently 
in the case. Yours faithfully, 

Rhoda Carlton. 


86 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Hannah looked dubious on hearing this read, but said 
nothing. The reply came in a few days* time. 

Dear Madam, 

These are the circumstances of the case you mention : Nathan 
Cobb is a notorious drunkard and gambler. He took the farm on a 
repairing lease, and for three years has not paid his rent. I think 
these facts explain themselves. Perhaps it w^ould be well another 
time to obtain more accurate information before concluding that the 
landlord is a tyrant and the tenant a victim. 

Yours faithfully, 

W. Rokeby. 

Poor Rhoda looked very crestfallen on receiving this, 
and then she laughed. 

‘‘Hannah, do you think Mr. Rokeby considers me a 
perfect fool ? I suppose, from his point of view, my letter 
was a piece of feminine simplicity. Well, I still feel in- 
tensely for that poor woman. If her son is bad it does 
not make her so.’* 

“ No,** said Hannah, thoughtfully; “ it*s a sorry look- 
out for a mother to have to do her son’s work, and he a 
hearty, well-grown man. But you’ll not be paying their 
rent for them, mum? ” 

“ No, if this is true, I do not think I shall. I should 
like to get Mrs. Cobb into an almshouse. She would be 
better away from that son. Or a happy thought has just 
struck me. My cousin, Mr. Stuart, has never filled up 
your place in the Lodge. Now wouldn’t that do for her ? " 

“ If she is an honest, respectable woman it might. 
Would the Tents know aught about her, do you think, 
mum ? ” 

“ I will ask Jess next Sunday.” 

Jess knew all about the Cobbs, and gave a very satis- 
factory account of the mother ; but when Rhoda went to 


Robin and Poll 87 

see her, and broached the subject, Mrs. Cobb stoutly re- 
fused to leave her son. 

He cometh back las’ night, an’ he zayeth us had bet- 
ter chuck it up, an’ a’ goeth with ’un till ’un don’t want 
me no more. ’Tis to Exeter us be agoin’, an he do zay 
he will try to get work yonner. Thank’ee kindly, miss, 
but a’ will stop wi’ ’un zo long as he lets me.” 

Not a word did she say about his bad habits, and Rhoda 
respected the mother’s feeling and said nothing more, only 
gave her a stamped envelope addressed to herself, and 
asked her to send it to her if the time came when she 
would change her mind. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AN OPEN DOOR 

Rhoda was busy kneading bread in the kitchen one 
afternoon, and talking and laughing merrily with Hannah, 
when they were startled by a knocking at the front door. 
Hannah went to open it, and returned saying, in a tone of 
surprise, ‘‘ A lady to see you, mum.^* 

Rhoda took the visiting card handed to her in her 
floury fingers and read, Miss Montague." 

Her face brightened at once. 

** Do you think you can go on kneading this, Hannah? 
It is nearly done ; and then will you bring us in some tea ? 
I am so glad she has called." 

She washed her hands hastily, took off her large apron, 
and went in to her visitor, who was seated holding her 
pince-nez to her eyes, taking quiet note of her surround- 
ings. 

‘‘Miss Carlton, I think? Do you know, I have only 
just discovered that you have settled in this part, and as I 
am a near neighbor I thought it would be well for us to 
know each other. What a charming room you have here, 
and what a view 1 " 

She pointed out of the west window as she spoke, where 
the sun was sinking over some purple hills — a great ball of 
fire — sending out flashing rays of beauty over the soft 
grey landscape. Like a panorama the clouds passed by, 
( 88 ) 


An Open Door 


89 


changing their hues and tints as they did so, from a pale 
salmon edged with pearly grey to a bright rose, which 
darkened into a deep crimson, whilst streaks of every 
shade of gold would illuminate the sky. Rhoda turned, 
and for a moment she and her visitor watched it in silence, 
which Miss Montague presently broke, — 

** I wonder if you are as fond of nature as I am.’^ 

am very fond of it,’' said Rhoda, ‘‘and living up 
here I seem to get all the beauty of it untouched by man.” 

“ Ah, I see we shall have much in common. You must 
come and see me and my flowers. That is one thing I 
should miss up here. It is too bleak and cold for much 
vegetation. I like grand wild scenery, but not so well as 
the sweet rural part that I live in ; I think I like nature in 
detail better than en masse. Is that sense to you? I 
know what I mean by it. Now tell me, have you come 
here to live? ” 

“ I hope so,” Rhoda answered, smiling, “ I have settled 
down to do so.” 

“lam not going to ask you yet why you have chosen to 
bury yourself alive here, though I am burning with curi- 
osity to know. Why, my dear, you are young and fresh 
and — may I say it ? — good looking ! Now what has pos- 
sessed you to do it ? ” 

Rhoda could not help laughing, and Miss Montague 
joined her a little shamefacedly, then added, “ Oh, I 
know I am very rude, but you see if you live long here you 
cannot be conventional. I have been here two years and 
a half, and do you know in all that time I have not spoken 
to a single woman in my own position in life. So you can 
fancy I was rather pleased to hear of your advent. I 
heard it through my little maid, who heard it through an- 


90 


On the Edge of a Moor 


other girl who occasionally visits some farmer’s family of 
the name of Tent. Gossip flies round even in this part. 
Well, it is a nice part of the country to be in, and I am 
content. I have found what I wanted. A life apart from 
society, and — men ! ” 

Miss Montague brought out this last word with some 
bitterness, then noticing Rhoda’s surprised look, she went 
on calmly, ‘‘Yes, I hate them. I think I honestly do. I 
am sick to death of them. I think I would like to clear 
the world of them, perhaps leaving a few doctors and 
lawyers, and possibly one or two clergymen.” 

“ Do you like women better? ” Rhoda asked, amused. 

** I think I do on the whole. I don’t care for any one 
very much except myself. But don’t think I am a misan- 
thrope. Oh dear, no ! And I do not shun my fellow- 

creatures. I think I am a sociable being at heart, and 

perhaps my bark is worse than my bite. I am a lonely 
woman. Miss Carlton, without kith or kin. I have led a 
very gay life, and have known what it is to have every 
luxury; but when my money departed, and I had to 

struggle on trying to keep up appearances in London, I 

could not do it. My soul revolted at dingy, dirty lodg- 
ings, and impudent servant girls ; I must have things nice 
about me, and I could not have them on my small income 
in London. So I discovered this part of the country, and 
have never regretted it. And I said good-bye to society 
without a sigh. Perhaps, to be quite frank, society took 
the initiative in bidding me farewell after my money went, 
but I had a good many friends in town up to the time I 
left. Perhaps, after all, my motive was not to get rid of 
the men so much as to economize ; but this does not alter 
my feelings about them. They are born selfish, they are 


An Open Door 


91 


brought up and trained to be selfish, and they live and die 
grasping all that is best for themselves, and consider that 
woman’s object in life is to amuse, interest, and minister 
to them.” 

think you are very hard on them. I suppose you 
rank yourself among the strong-minded women of the day.” 

^‘Strong-minded women! Excuse my repeating your 
words, but I do hate that expression. It is as much as to 
say that the majority of women have weak minds, and it 
is only the few who differ from them. No, I rank myself 
among the ordinary Englishwomen, with private preju- 
dices and opinions of my own. And now, will you tell 
me what you do with yourself all day ? I will tell you 
more about myself when I know you better, but I should 
like to know your hobby. Not flowers ? ” 

“ No, I hardly think so, though I am very fond of them. 
I have a variety of occupations ; I bake, I milk, I dust, 
I garden, and I ride and walk as I feel inclined.” 

“Do you ride? I wish I did; but I cannot afford a 
horse, and I think I have lost my nerve. But you must be 
able to get over the country quickly. Dear me, what a 
time I took walking up here ! I thought I should never 
reach you. I met Mr. Rokeby in the station road, and he 
directed me. Do you know him ? ” 

“No, I have never seen him, but he is my landlord.” 
“He is the only man about that I am on speaking 
terms with. He knew some friends of mine; but I have 
a contempt for his grand, lordly airs ; he always seems to 
consider it a mark of condescension to speak to you at all. 
I must tell you one day about Mr. Long. He is the curate 
who comes over on Sunday to give us the benefit of his 
ministrations. He came to see me once, but I don’t think 


92 On the Edge of a Moor 

he will ever come again. Well, go on, tell me more about 
yourself.** 

** I visit my neighbors,** Rhoda said quietly ; came 
here to do some work.** 

** What kind of work ? ** 

''To help some of these poor country people to live 
happier, fuller lives — not to exist like mere animals, but 
to know something of what they were sent into the world 
for.** 

" Oh, I see I You are a philanthropist. I’m sure I do 
not know what I was sent into the world for. Can you 
tell me? ** 

" I think the Bible will. Miss Montague. Were we not 
made for God’s glory? ** 

" Good gracious ! You’re worse than a philanthropist, 
you’re an enthusiast, you’re a religious fanatic ! And yet 
you don’t look like one. Your room, your dress, is dis- 
tinctly worldly, I consider. I am glad I know your object 
in coming here. To ' help us poor country folks to live 
happier, fuller lives.* That is what you have got to do to 
me. I think I might possibly be happier, and there is 
plenty of space in my life for something more. I am not 
' to exist any longer like a mere animal.* I wonder what 
kind of animal I resemble ! I think a fastidious Persian 
cat. I love soft cushions, and warm corners, and plenty 
of sleep. Now, I am not laughing at you, nor joking. I 
shall hold you to that purpose of yours. Here is my hand 
upon it ! ** 

She stretched out her daintily gloved hand, and Rhoda 
took it, feeling overwhelmed at her rapid mode of speech. 
But there was something so attractive in her bright win- 
ning tone, that she felt strangely drawn to her, and a 


An Open Door 


93 


quick prayer went up from her heart, that she might be 
used in earnest to win her into the Kingdom. 

Tea came in, and Miss Montague sat on, seeming to be 
thoroughly enjoying herself. When she at length rose to 
go, she said, I feel I have been amply repaid for a long 
and tiring wal-k by my charming visit, and I hope I shall 
entertain you as kindly when you come down to see me.’^ 
As Rhoda went to the little gate with her. Miss Mon- 
tague pointed down the valley to where she lived. 

** How superior you must feel up here ! Don't you 
have a kind of pitying contempt for the poor valley folk ? 
Do you think it is a type of our lives — yours and mine ? 
You on the heights where few can live, I with the rest of 
the world at your feet. I wonder if atmosphere affects 
the soul. Do you think if I dwelt nearer Heaven in real- 
ity, I should be nearer spiritually ? But I couldn’t do it. 
I don’t like these cold, grand, desolate places. I am only 
a cat. Cats don’t roam over mountain tops. Good-bye. 
Don’t leave me long without coming to see me.” 

Rhoda watched her disappear in the fast-gathering twi- 
light, and with a smile and a sigh went back to her room, 
feeling that her life was fast filling with fresh interests, 
and that there was no fear of her tiring of the monotony 
of her environments. That same week she went over to 
the Tents’, and returned with a radiant face. 

Hannah, the way before us is opening. What do you 
think Mrs. Tent has asked me this afternoon ? She said 
the younger boys didn’t like being left behind every Sun- 
day, and there were a great many tears in consequence. 
She couldn’t send them, for it was loo far, and they had 
to rest the donkey on Sunday. So she asked, with great 
hesitation and many apologies for doing so, if I would go 


94 


On the Edge of a Moor 


over there on Sunday afternoons, and give them all the 
benefit of a Bible lesson. She said they could so seldom 
get to chapel, that Sunday was a long day, and her hus- 
band liked to sit still and read. Old Mrs. Tent would be 
so pleased if I would come, and her husband himself told 
her to ask me. I said I would be delighted, and then I 
thought of old Robin Day and his wife. They don’t live 
very far from the Tents, and I asked permission for them 
to come. You will come too, won’t you? we will have 
some hymn-singing, and, who knows? it may grow into a 
large meeting — a Sunday service on the moor ! Oh, I am 
so thankful the opportunity has come at last ! I only hope 
I may be able to speak so as to interest them. We shall 
need to pray much about it, Hannah.” 

‘‘Yes, mum — I am very glad. It is much better than 
having the service here ; their kitchen must be a good big 
one.” 

“It is a splendid room. The only one who was not 
pleased was Jess. She looked as black as a thunder-cloud. 
Poor thing ! I think she loves coming over here. I told 
her she must come to me on Saturdays instead, when she 
wanted to change her book for another. I think that 
mollified her, but she looked very sullen up to the last. I 
shall try and see the Days to-morrow ; I do hope they will 
come.” 

Rhoda set off with a light heart to visit the old couple 
the next day. She had been several times to read to 
them, and they seemed to enjoy her coming. She found 
old Robin out in his garden, but he followed her in im- 
mediately. 

“ Us have bin a-wantin’ of ’ee zore, miss. Bob Smith 
— him that worketh the zignal box below — have a-zented 


An Open Door 


95 


up a letter vrom the pozt, an^ us be not able to read 'un. 
Us knoweth not rightly if our lad be alive or dead.” 

Old Poll thrust the letter forward with a shaking hand, 
and both stood on either side of Rhoda, their old faces 
quivering with excitement. She did not keep them wait- 
ing. The letter was from their daughter-in-law, saying 
that he had taken a wonderful turn for the better, and was 
now out of danger. 

‘‘Ay, ay, to think on^t ! ” — and Poll’s apron came up 
to her eyes — “us niver did a-think he’d have gotted 
through. Why, all last evenin’ afore us getted to bed, me 
dear, Robin an’ me was a-makin’ up some bootiful verses 
for his’n tomb. Ay, ’twas somethin’ vine, they were ! 
Robin he do be a bit o’ a poet. An’ to think as they be 
not needed ! ay, it be a zore pity ! Us allays writes our 
own verses for graves. ’Tis a thing you can’t get nowhere 
unless you makes it yerself. Will ’ee like to hear on 
’em?” 

“ Yes, I should,” said Rhoda, divided betwixt laughter 
and tears at the poor old things, and wondering if she 
would ever get so old as to be more interested in some 
composition of her feeble brain than in the life of a human 
being, and that one an only son. 

Poll immediately began in a solemn sing-song tone, — 

« Varewell, dear son, us hopes to meet agen, 

An’ won’t us all be very happy then ! ” 

“ There be three verses of they,” put in Robin, eagerly ; 
“the old woman maketh the lazt ’un, her did ! ” and tak- 
ing the words out of his wife’s mouth, he continued, — 

“ Ay, zadly shall us miss ’ee, dear. 

But doctors coodn’t keep ’ee here. 

His body rezts aneath the zod. 

His zoul, he hath flown up to God.” 


96 


On the Edge of a Moor 


There was a pause; then Rhoda said gently, ‘‘I am 
sure those verses are very nice ; but how glad you must 
be that they will not be wanted. I think God has an- 
swered our prayers, and raised your son up again in a 
wonderful way. Don’t you think it would be nice to 
thank Him together? ” 

Robin rubbed his head doubtfully and looked at his 
better half. 

‘‘Ay, ay, me dear,” she said briskly, “us’ 11 like a bit 
o* prayer. Me dear departed Tim he were winderful 
clever at prayer, he were. Many’s the time me knees 
have hurted terrible, but he were as vresh as a daisy ; he 
did pray louder an’ longer than any on ’em to chapel. 
But you doos your best, me dear.” 

And with this encouraging word Rhoda knelt and gave 
thanks for the one restored to health. 

When she rose, she said brightly, “ I always think it is 
such a comfort that God does not need long prayers from 
us. He is our Father. If children want anything, they 
don’t take long in telling their parents what it is. He 
likes us to ask for everything, and thank for every- 
thing.” 

The old couple nodded their heads, and then Poll said, 
with a little hesitation in her tone, — 

“Might us trouble you, me dear, to write doon they 
verses, for fear as they should slip our mem’ries? They 
taketh a winderful long time to make up, an’ I’m a-thinkin’ 
as they’ll coom in handy vur Robin if so be the Lord do 
take on him.” 

Robin scratched his head, and looked uncomfortable, 
but his wife patted his arm consolingly. 

“ Maybe us’ 11 go togither,” she said, “ but I can’t deny 


An Open Door 97 

as Tve a-buried three on ^em, an’ the Lord may requeer 
the vour ! ” 

Rhoda wrote down the verses, and Poll carefully folded 
the paper up and put it in an old tin tea-pot on the shelf. 
Then Rhoda told them about the little service on Sunday 
afternoon, and asked them if they would come. Poll got 
quite fluttered over it. 

** Us hath not bin to chapel for many year; I mindeth 
the last time I putted on me bonnet were for old Abel’s 
vuneral, an’ that were nigh six year ago, an’ me rheu- 
matics be rayther badly ; but us might conzeider on’t, 
mightn’t us, Robin ? ” 

‘‘Ay, us might conzeider on’t. ’Tis not zo vurry far 
ower yonner.” 

“I mindeth when I vurst gooed to a kitchen meetin’ 
wi’ me dear departed Harry. Poor dear lad, I ’ticeth of 
him to coom, but he were mighty uncoomfortable, an’ 
saith he when us were cooming oot, ‘ If that be a meet- 
in’, Polly,’ saith he, ‘I’m jiggered if I don’t do me 
meetin’s in me own kitchen arter this ! An* you can do 
the praychin’ whiles I taketh a nap ! ’ Poor Harry, he 
allays liked his coomfortable cheer, an* us were on a 
vorm in the kitchen wi’oot a back for nigh two hour ! 
But Robin an* me will do our best to coom, me dear, if 
it pleaseth you, and there ! It will be a bit o’ a change 
for we.” 


7 


CHAPTER IX 


SICK NEIGHBORS 

Sunday afternoon found a cosy little party in the 
Tents* kitchen. Jim and his wife were most anxious that 
every one should be comfortable, and Robin and Poll 
were honored with the two best armchairs. Jess was the 
only one of the party who stood sullenly aloof ; she re- 
treated into the farthest corner of the room, and when the 
hymns were started she resolutely closed her lips. Rhoda 
had feared, from her not arriving to see her on Saturday, 
that she was still displeased about it, and felt a great pity 
for her. 

** Pray, Hannah, that they may keep awake. A sleep- 
ing audience is my horror,** was the request that Rhoda 
made of her old servant on entering the house. 

And it was with great thankfulness that she noticed 
how interested all seemed to be. She took as her subject 
the parable of the wedding garment, first describing the 
scene as graphically as she could, and then going on to 
the solemn lessons it taught. And as her clear soft voice 
grew more earnest as she pleaded with all to be sure that 
they possessed the spotless robe so freely given, and which 
had cost the Lord so much to give, old Mrs. Tent wiped 
the tears from her eyes, and Robin and Poll felt their old 
frozen hearts quicken and thaw under the power of God’s 
Holy Word. The little boys never took their eyes off her, 
and when the closing hymn was being sung, the smallest 
(98) 


Sick Neighbors 99 

called out, '' Can a* have a goon liketh that ^un, mother? 
Can a' get *un ? ** 

He was hushed ; but Rhoda called him to her before 
leaving. ‘‘You must ask Jesus to give you that white 
robe, Jacky. He loves to give it to little boys as well as 
grown-up people.** He nodded impressively, and she 
felt that some seed had fallen into soft ground. 

They were pressed to stay to tea, so that it was late 
when they set out homewards. Rhoda had tried up to 
the last to win a word from Jess, but with no success, save 
a few grunted monosyllables. Old Mrs. Tent said apolo- 
getically, when she had limped out of the room, — 

“ She be in one o* her moods, miss. You mustn*t 
mind her ; she*s sometimes days like this. I was only 
sayin* how wonderful free she have been from *em lately. 
And it has been rare nice this arternoon ; we haven*t 
had such a talk out o* the Bible for years. I hope nought 
will prevent your coming next Sunday.** 

“ I hope not,** Rhoda said promptly. “ I will be sure 
to come if I can.** 

“I think you*ve made a good beginnin*, mum,** said 
Hannah, as they tramped through the dead heather and 
moist grass, “ but Tm not likin* the idea of the walk for 
you every Sunday.** 

“ Oh, Hannah, what is the walk compared with the 
chance of reaching those poor dark souls ! I felt this 
afternoon as if 1 would give anything for an experienced 
evangelist to have the opportunity I had, and then I was 
ashamed of myself, because God*s Word is always power- 
ful, and it does not depend on the skill of the instrument, 
but of the player, if I may use such a simile. I believe 
the Holy Spirit Himself was there this afternoon. We 


lOO 


On the Edge of a Moor 


asked for His Presence and I realized it. And as far as 
the walking goes I am much more fit for it than you. Do 
you think you will be able to manage it ? It is so nice to 
have you.” 

I shall manage it right enough, mum. It is mostly 
on the level, not like that terrible hill from Ashampton.” 

The mists of evening were rapidly descending, but 
Rhoda knew her way well along this part of the moor and 
did not fear. Suddenly a horseman appeared, and they 
were startled by Mr. Wallace’s voice. 

‘‘Good afternoon. Miss Carlton. You are just the 
person I wanted to see.” 

He dismounted, and leading his horse walked by her 
side while he continued, “I have just been making a 
visit, and as I should judge from what I have heard that 
you like errands of mercy, I am going to bring this case 
to your notice. It is a young woman seriously ill — rheu- 
matic fever, I believe. Her husband works for Mr. 
Rokeby, your tyrannical landlord. She seems all alone 
in her sickness, and has two babies making demands on 
her for food and attention. Could you go and see her, I 
wonder? A lady always manages best in these matters.” 

“ I shall be only too glad. Where does she live ? ” 

“It is about two miles and a half from where we are 
now. It would be a long walk, but if you are riding it 
would be quite an easy matter. It is a little cottage at 
the bottom of the Tor, just where the river goes past. 
You can make no mistake, for there is no other dwelling- 
place near.” 

‘ ‘ But she ought to have some one with her at once. 
Has she no one ? ” 

“ She will have her husband till some one relieves him. 


Sick Neighbors 


lOI 


I am afraid he makes a very inefficient nurse. If you 
could get some woman from this part to stop with her for 
a bit, it would be a charity. I will send over a doctor to 
see to her to-morrow — at least Mr. Rokeby will. He 
does sometimes look after his tenants, Miss Carlton, 
though perhaps you will not believe it.*’ 

Mr. Wallace’s tone was slightly mocking, but Rhoda 
only laughed. 

‘‘ I am glad to hear it,” she said. Does he often get 
helped in doing so by you ? ” 

Is that a gibe at me ? ” 

‘‘ Not at all. I was thinking it was good of you to go 
and visit a sick person. I know how men dislike that 
kind of thing, but I think it is a pity that Mr. Rokeby 
always does things by proxy.” 

I happened to be passing by ; that was how it was. I 
dare say you will be glad to hear that your friend Crake 
is leaving.” 

'*Is he really? Well, I am glad, and so will all be 
who have had dealings with him.” 

‘‘And would you like to know his opinion of you? I 
think I must tell you. ‘It is they kind of women that 
takes the bread out of honest men’s mouths, and raises the 
dust, if a tack isn’t in according to their liking I ’ ” 

Rhoda laughed merrily. “ Poor Crake ! He told one 
of his workmen in my hearing, when I was superintending 
some repairs to my cottage, that he could understand ‘a 
party with money being particular in the adornment of 
his mansion, but when there was neither money nor man- 
sion in the question, it was past his comprehension.’ So 
I stepped up to him, and said, ‘ Next time you take a 
walk, Mr. Crake, you pick the smallest wayside flower 


102 


On the Edge of a Moor 


that you can see, or take up the most insignificant insect 
in your path. Put them under the most powerful magni- 
fying glass you can get hold of, and you will be surprised 
to see that the Creator of all things takes, if possible, 
more pains with the small things in life, than with the 
large.* He did not like it, of course.** 

Mr. Wallace seemed amused. Hannah had discreetly 
dropped behind, but he was in no hurry to go his way. 

wonder what you have been doing this afternoon?’* 
he said. ** Pardon my curiosity. I expect it has been a 
visit to some one, has it not ? ** 

“I have been to the Tents*,** Rhoda replied gravely. 
Then she added, with a slight effort, ‘‘ I have been having 
a Bible Reading in their kitchen at their own request. 
We are all so far away from church up here, that a little 
gathering over the Bible is very helpful.** 

** How large was your congregation ? ** 

‘^Twelve with myself, including the children.** 

May I come and listen one afternoon ? ** 

The question was put so coolly that Rhoda felt quite 
taken aback. She glanced at him, and though there was 
a gleam of amusement in his eyes, he added gravely, — 

am in earnest. Do not think I am joking. Why 
should I not come ? ** 

** I think there is no necessity for it,** Rhoda answered, 
quietly recovering her composure. '‘You have a church 
close to you, and can study your Bible at home in a way 
that these poor people cannot.** 

" I do not think I have ever sat down to study my Bible 
in my life,** he remarked meditatively, " and I am not ir- 
religious, nor a sceptic. Perhaps, if I were to hear you, 
I might take a hint as to how to commence.** 


Sick Neighbors 


103 


She shook her head. 

Then, with a quick change of the subject, he continued. 

Why are women so intense nowadays, I wonder? 
Whether it is golf, or tennis, or University degrees, or re- 
ligion, their eagerness and rapidity make us poor men 
gasp for breath ! I sometimes think, like in the old fairy 
tale, they have been sleeping through all these generations, 
with their faculties lying dormant, and have only just 
wakened to the fact that life is real, something beyond 
mere existence. It is such a new sensation to them, that 
their ardor and energy surpass those who have the real 
burden of life on their shoulders. One wonders, after a 
generation or so of sharing in the toil and struggle for 
supremacy, whether they will maintain the zeal and ac- 
tivity with which they started.” 

Rhoda was silent. 

‘‘I am interested,” he went on in the same calm, dis- 
passionate tone, ‘'to watch your scheme of life up here. 
You have started a line for yourself, and whether from 
philanthropical or religious motives, I cannot but help 
wishing you success. An unordained clergy woman is 
your rdle^ is it not ? ” 

Rhoda’ s eyes flashed a little, and with raised head she 
said, “I think our slight acquaintance, Mr. Wallace, 
hardly warrants such scoffing ! ” 

“ I beg your pardon.” 

His tone was perfectly courteous, but his heavy mous- 
tache fortunately concealed his smile. 

And then, after a moment’s silence, he said, “ And now 
I must bid you good afternoon. I trust you will forgive 
my words. They may have appeared derisive, but I as- 
sure you I have the deepest respect for your principles, 


104 


On the Edge of a Moor 


and am thankful to think that the isolated families out 
here may benefit by your administrations.’^ 

Rhoda was beginning to feel ashamed of her outburst, 
and she said, looking up at him with her frank smile, 
‘‘ You see, I am only a faulty woman after all, who shows 
temper upon the slightest provocation. I know the way 
you men look upon women’s work ! Founded on en- 
thusiasm, and carried on by fits and starts, guided only 
by the impulses of the moment ! But, believe me, I have 
not come here to obtrude my actions upon my neighbors. 
I am trying to live quietly amongst the poor and do the 
little I. can to help them heavenwards. I do not think 
that it is an unwomanly life, and the truth is so precious 
to me that I long to pass it on. I do try to benefit their 
bodies, but, above and beyond that, I long to be the 
means of benefiting their souls. Shall we shake hands to 
show we do not bear any malice? ” 

Rhoda felt the grip of his hand for long after, and as 
he rode away, she turned to Hannah. 

What a dreadful lot of old Adam is in me still ! But 
Mr. Wallace always gives me the impression that he looks 
upon my life here as child’s play, a mere pastime, a 
Quixotic fancy ; his superior, complacent tone rouses all 
that is bad in me. Oh, Hannah, it is easy to talk to others 
about the Gospel, but how one fails to live a Christlike 
life oneself ! I feel utterly condemned this afternoon.” 

As Hannah had not heard the foregoing conversation, 
she could offer no remark. 

The next morning, Rhoda set off on Sultana, to see the 
sick woman. She took a basket with some groceries in it, 
and told Hannah she might be late for lunch. The after- 
noon wore away, and dusk had set in before she ap- 


Sick Neighbors 


105 


peared. Hannah gave a relieved sigh when she heard the 
clattering of Sultana^s hoofs outside ; she was always anx- 
ious after dusk for the welfare of her young mistress. 

I am very tired, so give me a cup of tea, and then I 
will tell you what I have been doing.” 

And Rhoda, pulling off her gloves, sank into her easy- 
chair by the fire with great content. Tea was not long in 
coming, and then she kept Hannah to listen. 

had no difficulty in finding the cottage. Poor 
young woman I she was almost delirious with fever and 
racked with pain. Her husband, a strong, hearty young 
man, seemed perfectly helpless; he was sitting by the 
bedside, holding a baby in his arms and trying to feed it 
with some cold milk in a bottle. Another child was cry- 
ing by his side, and the room in a perfect litter, with the 
remains of breakfast on the table. They seemed to be all 
living in the bedroom, for there was no fire in the kitchen. 
I told him the doctor would be there soon, and asked him 
if he would put my horse in his stable and then light the 
kitchen fire and tidy up a bit there, while I saw to his 
wife and children. He seemed quite relieved to be told 
what to do. I found there was some hot water, so I 
tucked up my habit and set to work. I undressed and 

washed the children first of all ; they were so dirty 

Ah, you should have let me go, mum ! ” 

I thoroughly enjoyed myself, I tell you I I found 
some clean clothes for them. Poor woman ! she must be 
a tidy clean body when she is well, but everything was 
at sixes and sevens. Then I warmed some milk, and 
sweetened it. Was that right, Hannah ? I felt quite 
ignorant about babies^ food, but the child took it, and I 
rolled it up in a shawl and made an impromptu cradle on 


lo6 On the Edge of a Moor 

the top of a box. To my delight it settled off to sleep, 
and the other child was as good as gold ; sat in its little 
chair, sucked its thumb, and stared with large open eyes 
at every movement of mine. I tidied the room up — it 
was more untidy than dirty, I am thankful to say — I 
washed the breakfast things, and then made the poor 
woman as comfortable as I could. I dared not wash her, 
for she seemed to be burning with fever. I was still busy 
when the doctor arrived. A nice old man he was, but he 
looked very grave over her, and set to work to swathe her 
in cotton wool. I took the children out of the room, and 
then came back to help him. He said she must have 
some one with her, and if I could think of no one, he 
would try to get somebody from his village to come over 
with him, only he knew of no one for the next few days. 
So I told him I would be responsible for her for that 
time, and when he had gone I asked the husband, Hal 
Brown by name, if he thought he could get a bit of dinner 
for himself and the children. I think the poor fellow 
had been quite dazed before I came, for now he seemed 
to brighten up out of his lethargy, and told me he could 
manage very well indeed. So I got him to bring round 
Sultana, and I rode off to the Tents* and told them the 
facts of the case. I had early dinner with them. I saw 
that young Mrs. Tent could not leave, for she was full of 
work, and her dairy could not be left; old Mrs. Tent had 
a bad cold on her chest; so I set to work to tackle Jess. 
I got her away from the others, and coaxed her out of the 
sulks, and pleaded and implored her to help me. I have 
discovered that Jess loves to feel her importance, and 
though she hung back for a long time — partly, I think, 
from dislike to going near her neighbors — she yielded at 


Sick Neighbors 


107 


last. Mrs. Tent was quite willing that she should go ; so 
we set ofif, she on the donkey, and I leading the w^ay. Of 
course, I was more than half inclined to stay with the sick 
woman myself, but I thought it would be such a grand op- 
portunity to get Jess interested in others. And I saw 
from the way she set to work when she got there, that she 
has her wits about her. She is fond of children, which is 
such a mercy, and when I left her an hour later, her face 
was quite radiant with satisfaction and self-importance. 
Don't you think I have done a good day’s work? I have 
promised to ride over and see how she is to-morrow. But 
lam confident that Jess will prove a good nurse.” 

And this was indeed the case. Jess was only too de- 
lighted to have her powers called into requisition, and 
when the doctor asked her if she would like to be relieved 
in a few days’ time, she was indignant at the idea. 

No one wants me at home,’' she confided to Rhoda, 

the baby knows me and smiles at me, and is as good as 
gold, and I like tending on sick folk.” 

^‘The little hunchback will do,” pronounced Dr. Bed- 
ford as he took his leave ; she knows how to nurse, and 
she has only to follow my directions. I believe our pa- 
tient will pull through, but it is a tedious illness and will 
take time.” 

Rhoda was backwards and forwards a good deal, and 
she found Sultana of great value now. 

One afternoon Jess informed her that Mr. Rokeby had 
paid a morning visit — And he left a sovereign, miss, 
for me to spend as I thought best for the good of the 
family.” 

Poor Jess’s head was raised proudly as she spoke. 

I told him,” she continued, ** that you brought over 


io8 On the Edge of a Moor 

most things, and he asked how often you came. He was 
very agreeable, quite different to what I thought he was, 
but I’ve never had a chance to speak to him before. Hal 
Brown says he is a very stern master, but he’s fair and 
just, and he said it was Mr. Crake to fault always in mat- 
ters between us and Mr. Rokeby.” 

‘‘ I am glad to hear it,” responded Rhoda, heartily ; 
and she wondered if it was Mr. Wallace’s influence induc- 
ing him to take more interest in his tenants. 

It was only a day or two after this, that, going into the 
post office for her letters, she was surprised to see a 
stranger in Miss Frith’s place. 

What is the matter with Miss Frith ? ” she asked the 

girl. 

‘^She is taken very bad with pleurisy. I was tele- 
graphed for yesterday evening from Abeythorpe. I help 
in the post office there, and they sent me over at once.” 

‘‘But I was here yesterday, and she only had a bad 
cold. I wonder if I might see her? ” and, distressed at 
the news, Rhoda passed through into the sitting-room. 

Mrs. Thatcher was sitting placidly before the fire with 
her knitting. 

“I am so sorry to hear of Miss Frith’s illness,” Rhoda 
said. “ Do you think I might go up to see her ? ” 

“ Yes, isn’t it trying ? I never do complain, but I have 
had such a trying morning. Susan she will go on until 
she knocks up, instead of nursing her cold properly, as 
she should do; and I’m sure our girl Maggie seems to 
have quite lost her head this morning. To begin with, 
she brought me my breakfast half cold, and not fit for a 
pig to eat — toast all black and burnt ! Susan always 
makes my toast for me ; she knows it’s one of the few 


Sick Neighbors 


109 


things I do care for. Then my fire has nearly gone out ; 
she left me so long without coals. And this Miss Green 
is such a young upstart — she said she had come to attend 
to the business, and not to me. That was only because I 
asked her to fetch me my glasses from upstairs, and my 
knitting.’^ 

Have you seen your sister this morning? 

Rhoda's tone was a little impatient. 

I looked in at the door as I was coming down, but she 
seemed asleep, so I did not venture in. That room of 
hers has a north aspect, and is so cold that I daren^t stay 
there long. It wouldnT do for both of us to be laid up, 
and I’m very susceptible to atmosphere.” 

Rhoda said no more, but went up a very narrow stair- 
case, and found herself in a bare, cold little room. 

Maggie was doing up the hearth, and vainly trying to 
make the fire burn brightly : smoke was coming out in 
volumes. Miss Frith lay in bed looking on, but too ill 
and in too much pain to care whether the fire smoked or 
not. A light came into her eyes when she saw Rhoda, 
who came forward, and with an impulse of pity stooped 
and kissed her on the forehead. 

You poor thing ! I am so sorry for you. And how 
bitterly cold your room is 1 You will never get well 
here.” 

<^The doctor said her oughter go in t’other room,” ob- 
served Maggie, ^‘but Mrs. Thatcher stoppeth of me when 
I were agoin’ to try an’ move her. This fire won’t light ; 
’tis no good. I’ve bin a- trying for over an hour.” 

‘^I will help you,” said Rhoda, brightly. “No, Miss 
Frith, you mustn’t object, and you are not to talk. I am 
going to nurse you. Maggie, show me the other room.” 


no 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Rhoda was not surprised at the contrast between the 
two rooms, for she had expected it. She was glad to 
find it was large enough to take in Miss Frith’s small bed 
quite easily. Every comfort seemed to have found its 
way there, and the sun was streaming in through the south 
window. She told Maggie to light the fire at once, and 
then, when that proved an easy task, she wrapped a 
blanket round Miss Frith, and, with Maggie’s help, half 
led, half carried her in, and put her in a chair by the fire 
till they were able to bring her bed in and arrange it for her. 

She stayed for a couple of hours, putting everything in 
perfect order, and then, going downstairs, announced to 
Mrs. Thatcher the change she had effected. 

That good lady’s complacence quite forsook her ; she 
was really angry. But Rhoda’s quiet, firm tone awed her, 
and she relapsed into tears. 

It is very awkward,” she sobbed. How can I share 
a room with a sick person ! I really don’t know what Dr. 
Williams could have been thinking of, to give such an 
order. I suppose it means I shall have to sleep down here 
on the sofa, and who is to arrange things for me? Oh 
dear ! it is a wretched state of things ! The best plan 
woivld be for Susan to go into the infirmary. My nerves 
are not in a fit state to stand the strain; I haven’t the 
health or strength for nursing. Dear ! oh dear ! was 
Siere ever any one so unfortunate as I am ! ” 

Patience was not one of Rhoda’s virtues, and she bit 
ftier lips hard to prevent hasty words from being uttered. 

* * Now listen Mrs. Thatcher. There is plenty of space 
for you to sleep in your own room, and some one must be 
there to-night to keep the fire up. Will you try and do 
this? Your sister’s life depends on it. I would come 


Sick Neighbors 


III 


down myself and be with her, and if she is worse to-mor- 
row I certainly will, but I thought you would like an op- 
portunity of trying to repay her a little for all the care and 
love she has given you. Maggie will be a real help to 
you ; she has a good head on her little shoulders, and she 
understands what medicines are to be given. Will you 
try, for your sister’s sake, to do what you can for her? 
She must not be talked to, and the room must be kept at 
a warm, even temperature. Dr. Williams has said he will 
be in again this afternoon, and he will give further direc- 
tions. She has a plaster on now, and it may have to be 
changed, but Maggie understands about that.” 

It needed a great deal of talking and reasoning to get 
Mrs. Thatcher to see that she must try and exert herself 
a little, but Rhoda felt that, if ever she was to be roused, 
now was the opportunity, and before she left she was sob- 
bingly assured, — 

‘‘Til do my very best, and if I’m taken ill too — well, it 
will be a natural consequence ; but I’ll try and see what 
I can do for her.” 

When Rhoda reached home, she had a long consulta- 
tion with Hannah. 

It seems as if everyone is getting ill, Hannah ! I feel 
that Miss Frith will get no proper care and attention. If 
she is worse to-morrow I must go and nurse her myself. 
I can do it, for I nursed Rodney through just such another 
attack once. And I should love to make her comfortable ; 
she has never had any one to look after her. No, I am 
not going to let you go and nurse her ; I shall do it myself. 
Why, what am I here for, except to help in a time like 
this?” 

Miss Frith was worse the next day, and Rhoda went to 


II2 


On the Edge of a Moor 


her, and for a fortnight never left her. Mrs. Thatcher 
began to value for the first time her silent, self-denying 
sister, and seemed a changed woman for the time being. 
If she could not help much in the sick-room she certainly 
tried to keep things straight downstairs, and then gradu- 
ally Miss Frith came back to health and strength again. 
She said very little; but one afternoon, as Rhoda was 
sitting by her and reading some verses of comfort from 
the Bible, she suddenly laid her hand on hers, and with 
eyes full of tears said brokenly, — 

^‘Why did you do it? You have saved my life; the 
doctor said only skilful nursing could have brought me 
through. You had better have left me alone — it is hard 
to turn back to life again. I seem to have had so much 
of it, and I am so tired of it all ! I don’t mean to be un- 
grateful, but I was wanting to go.” 

^‘But we want you with us still, Miss Frith;” and 
Rhoda tried to speak lightly. ‘‘What would your sister 
do without you? She has been in real distress about you. 
She told me only yesterday that you had been her best 
friend through life, and I’m hoping that she will help you 
more when you get well again. You will let her, will you 
not ? Don’t spoil her so, but let her have the pleasure of 
waiting on you sometimes.” 

Miss Frith shook her head rather sadly, but said no 
more. When Rhoda eventually left her, there was a 
strong bond of friendship between them that could never 
be broken. Many a long talk had they over the Bible, 
and the truths that were so precious to each of them drew 
them closer together, whilst Rhoda learned many a lesson 
from the deep strong nature that had been so long shut 
away from any human being. 


CHAPTER X 


MISS MONTAGUE 

When Miss Frith had quite recovered, Rhoda went one 
day to return Miss Montague’s visit. 

She could not help being charmed with the tiny house, 
though the wealth of hothouse plants and flowers that 
adorned the rooms were almost overpowering with their 
perfume. Everything about Miss Montague was bright 
and comfortable ; she seemed, with her graceful little 
figure, silvered hair, and sparkling dark eyes, to be a fit 
inmate of the quaint, old-fashioned room with all its 
dainty belongings. 

Don’t think me snobbish,” she said to Rhoda, ‘Mf I 
tell you that all my possessions are real of their kind. I 
cannot stand imitations and shams. Nowadays it is hard 
to tell the difference, but I am determined not to fall into 
the craze of getting cheap, tawdry impositions of foreign 
goods. I have been in India, and have collected my 
curiosities myself. They are all genuine. I know some 
people laugh at me, but, do you know, I can tell in the 
taste of my food whether my fork and spoon is real silver 
or electro-plated. I have not a plated article in the 
house. What I have is a small quantity, but it is real.” 

Rhoda felt amused. She thought that with a small 
income this expensive taste might prove rather awkward. 

Miss Montague continued, tell you, I am sick of 
seeing twopenny-halfpenny * art muslins,’ as they call 

8 (113) 


1 14 On the Edge of a Moor 

them, draped all over the windows and walls, and penny 
fans stuck in every imaginable corner, with cotton-wool 
frogs and spiders, and beetles and monkeys swarming up 
your curtains and draperies. I went down to Aldershot 
to see a friend of mine in the camp. She was very proud 
of her hut drawing-room, and asked me what I thought of 
it. ‘It looks exactly like a toy-shop,' I said, ‘or a 
linen-draper's bazaar ! ' — Enough of my room — I told 
you I liked comfort and warmth, and I'm thankful I have 
it. What have you been doing with yourself? I was 
told you were nursing our postmistress. Is that true? " 

“Yes. She is a great friend of mine." 

“ A queer taste you must have for friends, though she 
is my ideal of a postmistress; grim and forbidding; a 
woman that would not condescend to gossip over all the 
letters coming and going — oh yes, I am very well satisfied 
with her. But I am aghast at the idea of nursing such a 
dragon ! How did you manage it? Sickness in any 
shape or form is abhorrent to me. I keep well away from 
it. I think I am the most selfish person in existence ; 
for as to doing anything disagreeable that I could get out 
of, I shouldn't dream of it ! Dirt, misery, disease, and 
abject poverty are my sworn foes. I give them a wide 
berth." 

“ Would you not like some one to come and nurse you 
if you were ill ? " 

“ My dear, I hope I never shall be ill. I have enjoyed 
wonderful health all my life. Oh yes, I know by the 
grave curl of your lip what you are going to say. I must 
die. Well, I suppose I must some time ; but that is a 
subject that I put on a shelf with my other foes. I will 
not touch upon it. You can teach me how to live, but 


Miss Montague 1 1 5 

not how to die. Have you come prepared to preach to 
me this afternoon ? '' 

^‘No, I have not/* said Rhoda, laughing; '' I have 
come to improve our acquaintance. I am afraid I am 
breaking the tenth commandment. I am coveting your 
flowers.** 

‘‘Ah, you must come into my conservatory ; ** and Miss 
Montague opened the glass doors at the end of her room. 

It was not a very large one, but every variety of creeper 
covered the roof, and the stands were crowded with the 
choicest hothouse plants. 

“Of course it is an expense to me,** Miss Montague 
said, “ so I try to turn an honest penny by them. I sup- 
ply three of my London friends with flowers every week, 
at a cheaper rate than they can get them in Covent Gar- 
den ; I condescend to send some to the market here every 
Saturday, and I write articles in several gardening papers. 
I consider myself a very good amateur gardener. Then 
of course I grow my plants myself, and attend to them, 
with occasional help from a gardener near here. Perhaps 
I am more a florist than a gardener. I don*t go in for 
fruits or vegetables. It is astonishing how fond one gets 
of a plant that has been a great trouble to rear. My 
sickly children have a strong hold in my affections.** 

“ You tolerate disease in plants? ** 

“Am I inconsistent? I love them, that is the reason; 
but think of the difference between a flower’s infirmities 
and a human being’s 1 I went into a sick-room once, in 
London, where there was a woman suffering from ab- 
scesses in her throat. Faugh ! Shall I ever forget the 
atmosphere? There is nothing repulsive in plants.” 

“I think,” said Rhoda, meditatively, “ that we both 


Ii6 On the Edge of a Moor 

might help each other. If you let me buy some flowers 
from you occasionally I should be so glad, for I should 
like to take some to my sick neighbors. Miss Frith is 
very fond of flowers.’* 

I will give you one for her,” Miss Montague re- 
sponded quickly, for I always respect a woman who can 
hold her tongue. I never could hold mine, and have got 
into hot water many a time through overmuch speaking. 
And then I shall with pleasure take any orders from you. 
Do you think she would fancy the heliotrope ? ” 

You are very kind. I am sure she will, and I will 
take it in to her on my way home.” 

They went back to the fire then, and a few minutes 
after Miss Montague’s little maid appeared with tea. It 
was daintily served. The small wafers of thin bread and 
butter and rice-cakes were on Crown Derby plates, the 
tea was fragrant, and the silver tea-service was delight- 
fully antique in appearance ; but Rhoda could not help 
agreeing with the verdict already pronounced upon Miss 
Montague’s housekeeping, that quality, not quantity, held 
the ascendency. 

Miss Montague continued her voluble flow of conver- 
sation. 

‘‘It is delightful to have a chat with one’s fellow-crea- 
tures. I dare say you wonder how I can stand living 
alone; for I am fond of talking, there is no denying it. 
But you see I am a typical old maid — I have my puss ! ” 

Here Miss Montague took up a white Persian cat from 
the hearthrug and fondled it lovingly. 

“And so I talk all day long to her, and she under- 
stands me. Don’t you think me very frivolous. Miss 
Carlton ? ” 


Miss Montague 


117 

‘^No, I don^t think so/' was the reply; ^'only, to be 
quite frank, I cannot help wishing something better for 
you." 

Better than a ‘mere animal existence.' You see I re- 
member your vocation. It is to get us all out of this. 
But what would you have me do ? I loathe visiting the 
poor. I tell you, the very thought of tract distribution, 
and carrying greasy soup, and sitting in smelly, stuffy 
bedrooms and kitchens drives me crazy ! I consider I 
benefit my fellow-creatures by rearing flowers for them, 
and I am fairly happy. I have had my troubles in life ; 
and let me say by the way that all my troubles came 
through the men, and now I am having my resting time. 
I suppose I shall go gently downhill till I arrive in my 
dotage, and sit up in a chair by the fire, nodding and 
mumbling away to myself. I hope I shall have my flowers 
and a soft-cushioned chair and a cheery fire, and then I 
think I shall be content. I am not going to have you 
come here and try and turn me topsy-turvy, and alter my 
whole plan of life, when I have arranged it for myself so 
satisfactorily. What is it you wish better for me? " 

“I will not tell you to-day," Rhoda said quietly. 
“ Perhaps you would be angry and not wish to see me any 
more, and I want to see you again. I do not set myself 
up as a preacher." 

“ My dear, I couldn't afford to quarrel with you. If 
you don't answer my question I shall pass a sleepless night 
trying to solve it. You good people ought never to be 
backward in telling us poor sinful creatures our faults." 

“I can't believe, then," said Rhoda, softly, “that 
your present life thoroughly satisfies your soul. Does it ? " 

“I don't know whether I have a soul. I think I am 


Ii8 On the Edge of a Moor 

like Undine in her first stage. How much happier she 
was then, wasn’t she? Her troubles began when her soul 
began to grow. Of course, man’s perfidy had a large 
share in it. Perhaps another day I may give you some 
of my experiences of men. But I am philosophical ; they 
have not blasted my life. I have discovered that I can 
live without them. I will try and find out if I have a 
soul by the time I see you next. Ah, I see I am shocking 
you ! I told you I was flippant. But you good people 
are such paragons of perfection that very little shocks you. 
Is it true that you conduct a Sunday service up on the 
moor ? ’ ’ 

‘‘I have a Bible Reading at a farmhouse on a Sunday 
afternoon, but I had to stop it during Miss Frith’s illness. 
It is only a few of the people about who cannot get to 
church or chapel.” 

‘‘Now, look here; if you ask me to lunch with you 
one Sunday, I will go to it. I cannot manage to walk 
otherwise. And you can prepare your discourse expressly 
for me. Give it to me hot and strong ; it will be a splen- 
did opportunity, and then you will have delivered your 
soul — isn’t that one of your phrases? — and we need 
never touch on the subject again.” 

Rhoda hesitated. She felt a strong dislike to having 
Miss Montague as one of her audience, and yet she hardly 
dared refuse her. “ I shall be very glad for you to come 
to lunch,” she said, after a pause, “but you must not 
expect me to alter my subject. I am taking simple Bible 
stories, and explaining them in the most childish language, 
so that the smallest child can understand. I don’t think 
you would care for it, but you are welcome, if you think 
you would like to come.” 


Miss Montague 


I19 

** I shall come. I shall see you at church next Sunday, 
and we can go up the hill together. Good-bye, if you 
must be going. I know you think me an awful creature, 
but I assure you I am mostly on the surface. I have no 
hidden depths of wickedness in me. Some friends have 
told me I have no depths at all ! 

And so it came to pass that, on the following Sunday, 
Miss Montague formed one of Rhoda’s audience. 

She talked and grumbled in her light-hearted way the 
whole time she was walking to the Tents’, of the roughness 
of the road, the keenness of the air, and the dreariness of 
the weather ; for it was a cold grey day in February, and 
the distant landscape was obliterated by a thick mist ; but 
when she arrived in the farmhouse kitchen, she subsided 
into silence, and her bright eyes only were busy taking 
note of everything around her. 

Rhoda’s congregation was increasing. Some of the 
farm lads attended ; Hal Brown had commenced to come, 
bringing a nephew with him, for his wife was now con- 
valescent ; old Robin and his wife, of course, were there ; 
and Jess, no longer in a sullen mood, led the singing with 
great animation. Rhoda told the story of Naaman ; she 
had prayed much that Miss Montague’s presence might 
not disturb her or fetter her speech in any way, and after 
the first few moments she ceased to be conscious of her 
being there. She had the gift of being able to tell a 
story well, and when she had thoroughly aroused their 
interest, did not find it difficult to let the incidents teach 
the lessons they were intended to. 

When she concluded with a few earnest words of plead- 
ing, as was her wont, there was a silent hush over the 
room, and Miss Montague was more moved than she cared 


120 


On the Edge of a Moor 


to show. Yet when it was over, and Rhoda turned to 
have a little conversation with the Tents, Miss Montague 
took the opportunity of drawing out old Mrs. Day, and 
was soon rattling away, highly amusing the old couple by 
her voluble chatter. 

Your husband’s name must be Darby,” she was per- 
sisting, ** and yours is Joan. I have a song that I used to 
sing about you.” 

“To think o’ that!” ejaculated Poll, with a laugh. 
“But ’tis a mistake, mum; I ain’t never had a Darby I 
There have a-bin Ned, an’ Harry, an’ Tim, an’ it be 
Robin that be my man noo 1 ” 

“Why, you naughty old woman, have you had four 
husbands ? That is too many for any one. Why should 
you have had four and I none ? ” 

“ Hur were a pretty maid, hur were 1 ” put in Robin, 
with a chuckle. 

“Well, I wasn’t an ugly one. I dare say you mayn’t 
believe it, but I was considered rather nice looking at one 
time. I think one husband would have contented me, 
though, and, after all, I believe a single life is the blessed 
one. Four husbands I It’s truly awful to contemplate 1 
I expect you got rather tired of some of them, didn’t you 
now ? Perhaps were rather glad when they were taken ? ” 
The old woman looked solemn. 

“Us must be thanful vor our mercies, mum. ’Twere 
the right time vor they to be tooken, natur’lly ’twere zo I ” 
Miss Montague laughed gaily. 

“And is the last one the best of the four ? ” 

Old Poll turned to Robin with shining eyes, and laid 
her withered, trembling hand on his arm. Ay, ay, me 
dear,” she said, with a little break in her voice; “he be 


Miss Montague 


I2I 


a good man to me. Us do be particulooly sooted, Robin 
an* me. I be rare vond o* he ! ” 

And the pathos in the old woman’s voice as she looked 
into her husband’s face, and the cheery smile he gave her 
as he lovingly patted her hand, brought a lump in Miss 
Montague’s throat. She turned away ; and when, a short 
time after, she and Rhoda, with Hannah a few steps be- 
hind, were wending their way back, she said shortly, — 

A single woman’s life is not altogether blessed. Why 
do some people live such much fuller liver than others? ” 
thought you hated men,” observed Rhoda, with a 

smile. 

So I do. I abominate them. Allow me to congratu- 
late you on your sermon. I wish we had that style in our 
churches. Couldn’t you coach up our wretched curate 
here to be a little more interesting? ” 

Rhoda made no reply. 

Miss Montague continued, Now, tell me truly, do you 
really believe all you tell those people Sunday by Sunday ? ” 
I do,” was the grave reply. 

And you think there is no help for us, whether we are 
big or little sinners, unless we are cleansed, and that is to 
be one definite act ? ” 

The Bible says so, does it not? ” 

Oh yes, you gave us plenty of texts. Frankly, this is 
a new gospel to me. I thought the correct thing was to 
do one’s best, and one would stand a chance of being put 
right — cleansed, as you call it — ^just before death, if one 
wasn’t cleansed in baptism ? I rather fancy I used to be 
told we were, and didn’t want another cleansing. But I 
am very foggy about these kind of things. You have 
stirred me up this afternoon to think I may be a kind of 


122 


On the Edge of a Moor 


sinner after all. I wonder if I am ? ” Then with a quick 
change of tone, * ‘ What old dears those ancient folk are ! 
Where did you get hold of them ? They look as if they 
must have walked straight out of the Ark ! And what a 
little humpbacked monstrosity that girl or woman was 
that sang so beautifully ! Who is she?" 

And, as if to elude all serious subjects. Miss Montague 
chattered on without a pause till they reached Rhoda’s 
cottage. 

She came in to tea, had a rest, and then departed. 

I won’t come up every Sunday to hear you — it is too 
much of a walk — but you have not seen the last of me. I 
shall come occasionally." 

Rhoda sank into a chair with a weary sigh. 

‘^She takes a lot out of one, Hannah, and I have had 
her on my hands for nearly five hours. I wonder if it is 
any good trying to reach her ! " 

‘*You are tired, mum," said Hannah, briskly; ‘‘to- 
morrow you’ll be thankin’ the Lord for putting it into her 
heart to come. Rest a bit, and you’ll feel better.’* 

“ I don’t know what I should do without you to cheer 
me up," said Rhoda, and five minutes after the old servant, 
coming in to attend to the fire, found her young mistress 
fast asleep. 

She stood and watched her for a minute in silence, and 
went out into the kitchen muttering to herself, “She is 
but a bit of a child yet in some things, but the Lord 
means to use her in these parts. I felt the Spirit’s power 
this afternoon. Bless her sweet face, sleeping there as 
tired out as a baby ! She’ll wake up her bonny bright 
self again, I’m thinkin’ ! " 


CHAPTER XI 


A MISADVENTURE 

Spring came, and Rhoda revelled in the sweet air and 
sunshine ; she, was out in the early morning watching the 
unfolding buds on the hawthorn bushes, and the number- 
less tiny flowers and stonecrop covering the great grey 
boulders of granite that here and there made a break in 
the monotony of the wild waste of moor above. Her 
garden was a constant source of interest, coupled with a 
certain amount of anxiety, as the keen east winds and 
violent southwesterly gales seemed to destroy everything 
that was not very hardy. Her vegetables were satis- 
factory, but her flowers hardly so : the one comfort she 
had was in her rose-trees. Sunk well into the ground 
they gave fair promise of prospering. One afternoon, 
after a hard morning^s work, superintending Jock, and 
vainly trying to make his movements quicker, Rhoda told 
Hannah she was going for a long ride. 

Do not be anxious about me if I am a little late. I 
want to go further across the moor than I have been yet, 
and I think it will do me good. Oh, Hannah, how this 
lovely spring weather seems to fill one with gladness and 
hope ! I sometimes wonder if God is going to let me see 
some results of my winter^ s work amongst souls, as He is 
letting me now see it in nature. I wish I could believe I 
had passed the winter time, and all the ploughing had 
been done.'^ 


(123) 


124 


On the Edge of a Moor 


“ The ploughing and sowing is more important than the 
reaping, mum, I take it.** 

The last sight Hannah had of her young mistress was 
a pleasant one; Rhoda was a good horse-woman, her 
cheeks were flushed and eyes sparkling with anticipation 
of an enjoyable time, and she rode off calling out gaily, 

I feel fit for a thirty mile ride ! ** 

It was a bright clear afternoon when she started; 
Tartar, of course, accompanied her, and in an hour’s time 
she was far away out on the open moor, noting the golden 
gorse and broom, and the tender young bracken uncurl- 
ing in the midst of its bed of dry heather. 

About four o’clock she was descending a rather steep 
path that led down to a wild rushing stream which she 
hoped might satisfy Sultana’s thirst, when suddenly, 
without any warning, her steed lost her footing, through 
entangling one of her feet in a hidden crevice under the 
heather, and she herself was pitched violently over her 
mare’s head. Sultana, after a roll over, fortunately not 
near enough to hurt her mistress, struggled to her feet 
again, but Rhoda lay unconscious, and Tartar sniffed and 
whined in a pitiful state of perplexity round her prostrate 
form. No sign of human habitation or any living creature 
seemed to be near, only a dreary expanse of moor, not 
even a group of the shaggy cattle and moor ponies that 
were so often to be seen about. After a time she re- 
covered consciousness, and tried to raise herself. A sharp 
agonizing pain in her right foot prevented her, and she 
knew she had injured her ankle seriously. 

** I must try to mount Sultana at all costs,” she said to 
herself. 

Bravely did she attempt it; she crawled to the spot 



»• 


4 

I 

r 

( 


I 






« 


i 


\ 


> 


I 





\ • 


. 







‘^Mr. Wallace appeared/^ 






A Misadventure 


127 


where she was contentedly munching some soft grass, and 
stretching up her hand to her bridle made a desperate 
effort to reach the saddle. It was in vain ; one of her 
arms was bruised and sprained, and a faintness seemed 
to come over her at every movement. She sank back 
after several trials, and pillowing her head on a moss- 
covered boulder burst into tears. Then, feeling she must 
at all costs keep Sultana with her, she managed, with the 
help of some string in her pocket, to keep a hold of her 
bridle. The sun went down and a grey mist came creep- 
ing over the moor. Thoroughly unnerved and exhausted 
she felt the utter hopelessness of expecting relief, but her 
heart went up in prayer that some one might pass along, 
as she felt a night spent in her present condition would be 
most dangerous. 

Oh, Tartar, if you could only fetch some one ! Bark, 
sir, bark ! let our case be known ! 

Poor Tartar hardly understood his mistress's faint 
tones ; but he was a dog of some sagacity, and began to 
run to and fro giving vent to his feelings by short quick 
barks of distress. No other sound was heard, and the 
silence, combined with the mist shrouding every object 
around, increased the feeling of desolation. And then 
the dusk closed rapidly in, and Rhoda had almost resigned 
herself to her fate, and lay half unconscious and quite 
impassive in her strange surroundings, when Tartar set 
up a furious barking, and through the gloom and mist a 
figure on horseback appeared. Instantly Rhoda roused 
herself, and with all her strength called out, Help ! " 

In another moment, to her intense thankfulness and re- 
lief, Mr. Wallace appeared by her side. 


128 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Miss Carlton ! I am sorry to see you like this ! Have 
you had a fall ? are you hurt ? 

** Sultana lost her footing. Can you kindly help me to 
mount? Yes, I have hurt my foot. Oh, how good of 
God to send you ! 

The feeling of her heart found expression in words as 
she felt his strong arm round her; but she could not 
stand, and a sharp cry of pain escaped her when he raised 
her up gently. 

‘‘Trust yourself entirely to me,*' he said, briefly, “I 
can place you on your horse, but whether you will be able 
to ride her is doubtful.*' 

In another moment she found herself on Sultana's back. 
The position proved a painful one, and she set her teeth, 
determining if possible to hide her sufferings. 

“Now, what are we to do?" he said, standing before 
her with perplexity in his eyes. 

“ I must get home as fast as I can." 

He glanced up at her white face and firmly compressed 
lips, and shook his head. 

“You couldn't possibly do it. Do you know that you 
are between eight and nine miles away? " 

“I can't sit here all night," Rhoda said, trying to 
laugh, “ I must get, back! " 

“I shall take you on to Rokeby Court. We are only 
about a mile and a half away." 

Mr. Wallace's tone was determined, but Rhoda strongly 
objected. 

“ I would rather try to get home. I have no fancy for 
intruding upon Mr. Rokeby. I must get home, Hannah 
will be so anxious." 

“ Miss Carlton, for once you must, I am afraid, bend 


A Misadventure 


129 


your will to mine.” And Mr. Wallace looked up as he 
spoke with the sparkle in his eyes that so often came when 
addressing her : I am a better judge of what you are fit 
to do than you are yourself. We will send a messenger 
over to your place in a very short time. It is as much as 
you will do to accomplish a mile, I am afraid, in your 
present condition.” 

He drew his arm through his horse’s bridle, and walk- 
ing by her side led Sultana gently on, trying to avoid the 
very rough parts of the track they were passing along. 

And Rhoda had no spirit to resist ; indeed, when every 
movement of the horse gave her a fresh shock of pain, she 
felt how right Mr. Wallace had been in his decision. 
Their progress was very slow, and for the most part it was 
made in silence. She became almost stupefied by the 
pain, and when at length, after an interminable distance, 
as it seemed to her, they reached some lodge gates, she 
drew a long breath of relief. 

*^Now,” Mr. Wallace said, '' we will rest here. Old 
Mrs. Foster has a very comfortable couch in her best parr» 
lor, and I will send for our doctor. He lives close at 
hand, if he is in from his rounds.” 

He lifted her off her horse, and carried her in, laying 
her gently down, and the old woman fussed about in great 
perturbation. Then he disappeared, and Rhoda lay still 
with closed eyes, wondering what poor Hannah would do 
at her continued absence. It was about a quarter of an 
hour after that Mr. Wallace returned with Dr. Bedford, 
and after a short examination she was told that beyond a 
general bruising and shaking, a fractured ankle was the 
only serious injury she had sustained. Dr. Bedford took 
the ankle in hand at once, and after a painful setting he 
9 


130 


On the Edge of a Moor 


told her he was afraid it might prove a tiresome business. 
** You will have to give it a long rest.” 

But Rhoda did not hear ; she had quietly fainted away, 
and Mrs. Foster ran here and there not knowing in the 
least what to do. A little brandy and some fresh air soon 
brought her round, and then Dr. Bedford took his leave, 
after having made arrangements with Mr. Wallace that she 
should be carried up to the house as soon as possible, and 
promising to come the first thing in the morning. 

When Mr. Wallace came to her, Rhoda tried to smile, — 
** What a lot of trouble I am giving. Now I want you to 
leave me here for the night, just as I am. I dread another 
move.” 

am sorry, but it is out of the question; you see 
what old Mrs. Foster is like, and there is no one but her 
here. She is good for nothing in an emergency. You 
will have every comfort up at the house, my — Miss 
Rokeby will be only too pleased to do all she can for you.” 

** I did not know there was a Miss Rokeby in exis- 
tence.” 

‘‘She is getting old, and does not go out much. I 
thought you would like to know that I have sent a groom 
off to tell your old servant where you are.” 

“ Thank you, that is kind of you. I must get back as 
early as possible to-morrow morning.” 

Her brow contracted with pain as she spoke, and Mr. 
Wallace said quietly, — 

“You will be amenable to reason, I know. We will 
not discuss to-morrow at present.” 

And then he left her, but returned a short time after 
with an impromptu litter, upon which she was placed, and 
carried up in solemn state to the house. It was a beauti- 


A Misadventure 


131 

ful old Elizabethan structure, and the lights in all the 
casement windows gave it a cheery aspect as they ap- 
proached. She was carried straight through the large old- 
fashioned hall, and up the broad oaken staircase to a com- 
fortable bedroom, where a gentle-faced old lady received 
her very kindly, and did her utmost to make her feel at 
home. When Rhoda began to apologize for the trouble 
she was giving, she cut her short at once, — 

* * My dear, do not mention it. lam only so thankful you 
were discovered before night set in, and it is so fortunate 
that you were not far from us. My brother is only too glad 
to be of any service to you. I have heard him mention 
you by name before, and if I were able to go about I 
should have called. Now lie still, while I see that you 
have something to eat. You must be nearly starving. 

Rhoda could not get up much appetite for the dainty 
little repast that was brought her ; she had a restless, fe- 
verish night, and felt so far from well, that she was not sur- 
prised when the doctor the next morning absolutely for- 
bade her to be moved at present. And she was content 
now to lie still ; she was almost relieved at his decision. 
Later in the day she felt brighter and more herself, and 
when Miss Rokeby came in to see her, she asked if there 
had been any message from Hannah. 

Yes, the groom said she seemed very troubled at first, 
and wanted to come off to you then and there, but my 
brother had written saying there was no need for that, for 
he had brought you here for the present, and we would 
take every care of you.** 

Rhoda looked up quickly. 

Mr. Wallace brought me,** she said ; ‘‘I have never 
seen Mr. Rokeby.** 


132 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Miss Rokeby looked puzzled. 

* ‘ My brother brought you here, my dear. He found 
you on the moor. His name is Wallace Rokeby. Do 
you know him by his Christian name best? 

And then, like a lightning flash, Rhoda saw that Mr. 
Wallace and Mr. Rokeby were one and the same person, 
and the discovery nearly took away her breath, making 
her cheeks burn with shame and vexation. 

‘‘I have been under a strange delusion,’^ she said at 
length, I suppose it is the consequence of never having 
been properly introduced to your brother. I was under 
the impression that his surname was Wallace, and that he 
was a friend of Mr. Rokeby’s. He certainly never un- 
deceived me.*’ 

And as she remembered all her allusions to the harsh 
landlord,” telling him to his face what she thought of 
him, and how completely she had been deceived, a spirit 
of resentment at the way he had purposely kept her in 
ignorance of his identity took possession of her. She 
longed to get up and leave his house, and it was only her 
good sense and self-control that enabled her to hide her 
mortification and wounded pride. 

Two or three days passed, and she was still a prisoner. 
Nothing could exceed the kindness shown to her; Miss 
Rokeby was constantly in and out of the room, but when 
on the third day her bedroom door opened, and Hannah 
was ushered in, Rhoda held out her hands to her with the 
greatest sense of relief, and as she drew near her, she laid 
her head against her shoulder and burst into tears. 

I have wanted you so. They have been very kind, 
but I am such a stranger to them. Oh, Hannah, get me 
home at once, I shall never get well here. I have dis- 


A Misadventure 


133 


covered that Mr. Wallace is a perfect fraud, and it makes 
me miserable to think of it.^’ 

And the next day, the doctor giving the required per- 
mission, preparations were made to take her back. Mr. 
Rokeby placed his brougham at her disposal, and though 
the distance would be a long way round to drive by road, 
it was the only way she could be moved. 

She was carried downstairs in the morning, and as she 
lay on a couch in the library awaiting the carriage, Mr. 
Rokeby came in to see her. It was the first time they had 
met since the day of her accident. She could not forget 
her discovery, and there was a little hauteur in her greet- 
ing. But as he stood there looking down upon her with 
kindly interest and sympathy, she kept her wounded feel- 
ings out of sight, and looking him full in the face said 
frankly, — 

This is not the time to reproach you, after you have 
shown me such kindness, but I should like to know the rea- 
son for your concealing your identity from me. Do you 
think it was fair or kind to take advantage of me so? 

*‘No,” he said, gravely, ‘‘ I must plead guilty. The 
first night I came upon you, your old servant provoked me 
by her curiosity, and I resolved on the impulse of the mo- 
ment not to gratify it, for I saw she was suspicious of me. 
I had no intention of deceiving you, but you seemed so 
satisfied with my personification that I had not the cour- 
age to enlighten you, for, from the way you talked of 
^ Mr. Rokeby,* I feared I would forfeit your friendship at 
once if you discovered that I was the iniquitous tyrant 
you were always inveighing against. I must ask your for- 
giveness. I feel you have a right to be very angry with 
me. I have to thank you for opening my eyes a little to 


134 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Crake’s harsh method of carrying out my orders, and I 
think, since I have looked into matters more myself, my 
tenants have benefited.” Then he added, with a dry 
smile, ** Not but what I still think ladies do not always un- 
derstand the rights existing between landlord and ten- 
ants.” 

** To witness the case of the Cobbs,” said Rhoda, smil- 
ing ; am afraid you will not forget that. I suppose I 
must forgive you, but I shall not apologize for my plain 
speaking about you to your face, for that you deserved. 
It is the old adage being carried out — ^ Listeners never 
hear good of themselves.’ You should not have put 
yourself into such a position.” 

‘‘I have survived it. In fact I am afraid I shall rather 
miss hearing my different acts commented on. I hope 
you will not cease writing your characteristic notes, if any 
fresh act of tyranny comes before you.” 

Rhoda’s tone was dignified as she said, I shall cer- 
tainly let you know of any wrong existing.” 

He stood looking down upon her with the amused 
gleam in his eyes for a moment, but it deepened into 
something more earnest as he noted how even the few 
days confinement and suffering had left their traces in her 
face. 

“I wish I could have prevented that accident of yours,” 
he said, gravely, I am afraid the being laid aside for a 
time will prove a great trial to one of your active disposi- 
tion.” 

** I dare not think of it,” Rhoda responded, the light 
dying out of her eyes at once, ‘‘but I shall have grace 
given me to bear it. Dr. Bedford said I could not have 
my foot out of splints under two months. I might be 


A Misadventure 


I3S 


able to get about on a crutch at the end of that time. 
And I have been looking forward to this spring so much.” 

She stopped, for tears seemed near the surface, and Mr. 
Rokeby said cheerily, — 

'^Do not look on to the future. You may get about 
sooner than you think, and meanwhile, if I can be of any 
use to you, do not hesitate to send for me.” 

Thank you very much. I can^t express my gratitude 
for all your kindness, but I shall not forget it.” 


CHAPTER XII 


FIRST-FRUITS 

Very long and weary were the days that followed, and 
Ehoda’s faith and patience sadly failed. Even Hannah 
was surprised at the change in her bright, light-hearted 
young mistress. Sometimes her irritability and impatience 
would thoroughly dishearten the old servant, and then 
those phases would be followed by ones of the deepest 
depression of spirits. 

I suppose I must have utterly failed in carrying out 
the work given to me or I should not have been so laid 
aside,” she said to Hannah one lovely morning in May, 
as she lay on her couch looking out into the sweet, soft 
sunshine, and vainly trying to restrain her longings to be 
out in the midst of it all. 

^^It’s a fresh class you have been promoted to,” said 
Hannah, sagely. 

*‘If only I could know the reason for it! Just to 
happen when my long, trying winter’s work was over, and 
I was beginning to see some results 1 Look at our Sun- 
day afternoon services — increasing week by week ; the 
last Sunday I took it there were twenty-five, and promises 
of more now the weather is improving. And then sud- 
denly it has been brought to a standstill. Was I getting 
too uplifted, Hannah ? I tried not to be. I think and 
wonder as I lie here, and though with my lips I say * Thy 
will be done ’ my heart is not in accord with it. I have 
been wondering whether it is the devil’s doing, whether 
(136) 


First-fruits 137 

he determined to upset the work when it seemed most 
promising. Do you think it can be? 

He could not work without God’s permission, mum,” 
Hannah said slowly ; ** the seed has been sown, and God 
maybe can water and tend it without you for a time.” 

Oh, I know all that,” and Rhoda’s tone was impa- 
tient. know I am not wanted at present, or I 

wouldn’t be lying here. I have heard from my uncle 
suggesting my coming to his house in town till I am 
better. I am half inclined to go. A cottage upon the 
moor is very pleasant when one can get about, but it is 
simply unbearable when you have to lie still in the same 
small room day after day. There ! I see from your face 
how I shock you by my impatience. I think my illness 
may show me what a vile temper I have when things are 
not according to my liking. The last time I went to see 
that young Mrs. Brown, she was fretting at not getting on 
faster after her attack of rheumatic fever. I preached 
patience and resignation to her with the greatest self-com- 
placency. It is a very different matter to preach it to 
oneself. Do you think any one will ever come and see 
me here ? Oh, what sympathy I shall have with those 
who are lying sick after this experience of mine ! I think 
what makes me mind it most is the insignificant cause. A 
sprained and broken ankle ! If I felt really ill, too ill to 
care for anything, the time would pass quicker. But my 
health is capital, and I am just panting to have a good run 
across the moor. Don’t go, Hannah ; I must grumble, it 
does me good. Say you’re sorry for me, say it’s very 
hard.” 

I am sorry, mum, but nothing would make me say 
the Lord is hard upon you, for I know better.” 


138 


On the Edge of a Moor 


And these words brought a feeling of shame to Rhoda’s 
heart, as she realized against whom she was grumbling. 

Hannah had hardly left the room before there was a 
timid knock at the door, and upon Rhoda’s calling out 

Come in,” Jess appeared, looking very shy. 

I thought you’d excuse my calling, miss, but I did 
want to know how you were, and mother said she thouglit 
as how you would understand.” 

^^Why, Jess,” Rhoda exclaimed, holding out her 
hand to her, '‘I’m delighted to see you. I was only say- 
ing to Hannah just now how I longed for a visitor. I 
really think God must have sent you just to cheer me up. 
Come and sit down by me, and we will have a nice talk 
together. You don’t know how lonely I have been feel- 
ing.” 

Jess took a seat by the couch with a look of infinite 
satisfaction. "We’ve missed you dreadful on Sundays,” 
she said; "but Jim he got your message to keep the 
service on if possible, and so we have plenty o’ hymns, 
and Jim he reads a chapter, and Hal Brown he led in 
prayer last Sunday. He said he used to think a deal of 
such things years ago, only he had fallen away like, and 
it had brought it all back agen to him. He got up and 
he said a few words last Sunday, and he spoke very nice. 
He said he was a-makin* a fresh start, and mother she set 
to a-cryin’ when he was talkin’, and we had a grand 
time.” 

"Thank God ! ” breathed Rhoda to herself, almost 
afraid to trust herself to speak. 

Jess was at no loss for conversation, and had so much 
to tell about her home life, and Mrs. Brown and her 
family who were still a great interest to her, that Rhoda 


First-fruits 


139 


could only lie still and listen and wonder, as she noted 
the brightness in her face at the change from the sullen 
Jess who had so obstinately resisted the idea at first of 
having a service at home. 

She kept her to lunch with her, but after it was over 
Jess lingered, and showed so plainly that she had some- 
thing on her mind, that Rhoda asked her at length, — 

‘^Have you anything else to tell me, Jess? ** 

Yes,^^ she said hanging her head. 

Don’t be afraid to tell me. Are you in any trouble ? ” 

‘‘No.” 

Rhoda waited. Then, with a little burst, Jess came out 
with, — 

“ I thought perhaps you’d like to know, I see it differ- 
ent now to what I did. I — I couldn’t get out of my head 
what you said to me months ago.” 

“What was that?” asked Rhoda, gently; though her 
heart beat quickly as this revelation was made. 

“ It was the Sunday I came here and went to sleep 
when you were talking to me. You said — I mind the 
very words — ‘He died for you. He loves you, and He 
wants to have you in His fold.’ I couldn’t get them out 
of my head, and I was miserable, and when you gave up 
having me here on Sundays, I said to myself it was no 
use tryin’ to be better, for there was an end of it all. 
And then you come and took me off to Mrs. Brown, and 
when I was a-nursin’ her I felt if it was me I shouldn’t be 
ready to die, and I got more and more anxious like. 
And then I wondered if your words were true, and I got 
my Bible one night when I was watchin’ her, and I come 
across that verse in the beginnin’ of Revelation, ‘ Him 
that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own 


140 


On the Edge of a Moor 


blood/ I thought over that for a long while, and I 
prayed every night that I might belong to them that could 
say that. And then, that Sunday when you told us about 
Naaman, I seemed to see it clearer. And last Sunday, 
hearing Hal Brown speak up, I saw what he had I could 
get, and I — I went to my little room after, and asked to 
be washed and taken into the Fold. And, miss, you don’t 
know how happy I am, for I feel He really has done it.” 

** Oh, Jess, I am so thankful ! I have prayed so much 
for you.” 

They talked a little longer, and then Jess took her leave. 

But directly she was gone, Rhoda put her head down 
amongst her cushions and burst into tears. 

** How good of God ! ” she sobbed. ** How little do 
I deserve it ! It is overwhelming, when I think of my 
ungrateful and impatient grumbles against Him. And all 
the time He was preparing this great joy for me.” 

An earnest prayer for pardon, mingled with thanksgiv- 
ing, went up from her heart ; and when Hannah came in 
later on, a glance at her mistress’s softened, radiant face 
led her to expect some good tidings. 

Only those who know the joy of seeing a careless, un- 
awakened soul enter into the kingdom, and receive the 
gift of eternal life, can realize the happiness that filled 
Rhoda’s heart. 

Hannah did not hear a murmur pass her lips for many 
days after, but she was not surprised when she said to her, 
'*1 have refused my uncle’s invitation, Hannah. I feel I 
cannot leave. Jess is coming over every Saturday to have 
a little Bible Reading with me, and practice some hymns. 
God is going to give me some work to do, I think, and I 
will not run away from it.” 


First-fruits 


141 

Rhoda’s next visitor was Miss Frith. She had got some 
one to take her place, and though it was a considerable 
effort on her part to do it, she had conquered her feelings 
of reticence, and arrived one afternoon at three o’clock. 

Rhoda, of course, was delighted to see her, and spoke 
to her frankly of her difficulties in bearing her confine- 
ment with fortitude and patience. 

‘‘I have failed so miserably,” she assured her. I 
know it is all my own fault, for God has sufficient grace 
for all our needs. But it is a fight with me, and I thought 
at one time I had got past fighting. I think it shows one 
how much hidden depths of sin is buried within us ; it 
only needs certain circumstances to bring it out. I remem- 
ber, when you were laid up, I could not understand your 
restlessness; but you were a saint compared with me I ” 
Ah no,” Miss Frith said, gravely. You are of too 
bright a disposition to be as soured and rebellious as I 
was.” 

Indeed, you don’t know me. I feel I could fling my 
cushions at Hannah’s head, sometimes, in sheer temper. I 
have never been patient, and I think I have had my own 
way pretty much through life. Even in my work here 
there is no one who hinders or opposes me. It is the first 
real check I have received, and I am beginning to see now 
that I have had a lesson set before me that I sadly needed 
to learn. But I won’t talk about myself the whole time. 
How is your sister? ” 

^‘She has been rather poorly the last week or two with 
a bronchial attack. I don’t think so much of that, as she 
has often had them before, but she seems so depressed 
with it. She says she knows she is going to die, and that 
isn’t like her.” 


142 


On the Edge of a Moor 


* ‘ I am sorry. Excuse my asking you, but have you 
ever spoken to your sister on serious subjects? 

** Never/* said Miss Frith, setting her lips together 
firmly; ‘‘it’s the life, not the lips, must teach. I don’t 
approve of preaching.” 

‘ ‘ There is a verse that has been a great help to me in 
my life. I wonder if I may give it to you. Would you 
mind handing me my Bible? I should like to read it to 
you. It is in Isaiah, and the marginal reading is so strik- 
ing, I think. Here it is : ‘ Ye that are the Lord’s remem- 
brancers, keep not silence.’ I remember when it first 
struck me. It seemed to come as an inspiration. Don’t 
you think it means we must testify with our lips? ” 

Miss Frith did not answer. 

“I know I am not as old a Christian as you, but it 
seems to me that God does use us again and again as His 
mouthpiece. I could tell you of one quite lately who has 
been truly converted, I hope and believe. Some words 
of one person first set them thinking ; God continued the 
work ; but they were brought to decision by the words of 
quite an ignorant man, who was testifying in his simple 
way of what the Lord had done for him. Don’t you 
think we may miss opportunities by keeping our mouths 
shut?” 

“I think,” said Miss Frith, with deliberation, “if a 
person is anxious to hear, then is the time to speak. My 
sister would neither care nor understand, and least of all 
would she listen to me. If you were able to come and 
see her it would be different — she’s always asking after 
you. Do you think you could manage it soon? ” 

“ I will, if I can ; but I wish you would try. Will you 
read her a verse or two from the Bible? ” 


First-fruits 


143 


Miss Frith shook her head, and changed the subject. 

Rhoda kept her to tea, but when she was wishing her 
good-bye, she put her hand on her arm gently, and said, 
‘‘Don^t be angry at my persistency. ‘Ye that are the 
Lord’s remembrancers, keep not silence.’ Think it over, 
won’t you? And send me up word how your sister is by 
Jock when he calls for my letters.” 

Three days after, Rhoda was startled and shocked by 
the tidings of Mrs. Thatcher’s death. She had suddenly 
taken a turn for the worse, and died one night when only 
her sister was with her. Rhoda longed to go down and 
offer comfort and sympathy to Miss Frith, but this Dr. 
Bedford forbade her to do, so she had to content herself 
with writing. 

“ Now, I wonder,” she said to Hannah, “if there was 
opportunity of speaking to her ; she seemed quite laid 
upon my mind when Miss Frith was here. I suppose no 
clergyman was sent for. I do so wish now that I had 
tried to reach her more. I don’t think I ever found it 
more difficult with any one than with her.” 

There was no word or sign from Miss Frith, but know- 
ing her silent, reserved character, Rhoda was not surprised, 
and for the time being she was kept in suspense. 

Other people came to visit her in her convalescence ; 
Miss Montague came several times, and certainly enliv- 
ened her by her flow of conversation. And one day Miss 
Rokeby came over in the brougham, accompanied by her 
brother. They had been very kind in sending over books 
and flowers, and occasionally a present of game; but 
Rhoda felt that Miss Rokeby’s visit had cost her some 
effort, and appreciated it accordingly. 

“ My dear,” she said, on leaving, “ I think you have a 


144 


On the Edge of a Moor 


charming little retreat, but you ought not to be living 
alone here. I do not want to be curious, but I cannot 
help wondering what has induced you to come and bury 
yourself alive on this moor. If you want to work, there 
is plenty of scope in the large towns and cities all over 
England. Our hard-worked clergy are always calling out 
for workers. Is not that more natural and fitting a sphere 
for you to be engaged in ? 

know most people think so,’' rejoined Rhoda, earn- 
estly, but the people in the towns live in a blaze of light 
compared with the country people in such parts as this. 
Workers get in each other’s way, and one denomination 
hinders the work of another. I have talked it over with 
my brother, who is a curate in the East End of London, 
and though of course workers are wanted everywhere, I 
do think the country wants them most. Christians always 
congregate in towns; they want scattering; and I deter- 
mined not to form one of their number. It always seems 
to me that the ground in the town is over-tilled, whilst 
many parts in the country lie fallow and waste.” 

‘‘What is your work here?” asked Miss Rokeby, with 
interest. 

For an instant Rhoda hesitated ; then she said simply, 
“ Trying to make people see and believe the reality in 
religion, and how it can become part and parcel of our 
everyday lives.” 

“ But that is the work of the clergy.” 

“There are no clergy here. No minister of any de- 
nomination visits the small farms about the moor.” 

Mr. Rokeby had been listening in silence, but now he 
said, “And how is the Sunday service getting on? I 
hear grand accounts from Brown, who goes to it. I be- 


First-fruits 


HS 


lieve he will end by being a preacher of some sort before 
long. Since his wife's illness he has come out in quite a 
new light. I was having a chat with him the other day 
in the wood, as he was cutting down some trees, and he 
turned round and asked me a very pointed question as to 
my spiritual state. Do you train them to preach, Miss 
Carlton?" 

‘‘No," she said, meeting his quizzical glance very 
gravely; “but I suppose those words are true, ‘Out of 
the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' " 

There was no more said, but as Miss Rokeby left the 

house, she said to her brother, 

“It is a strange life for a young girl, and such a good- 
looking one, too ! A vein of eccentricity in her nature, I 
suppose. I wonder her relations allow it." 

“A more wholesome life than pining in useless luxury 
for occupation, or steeped in the frivolities of town dissi- 
pation," responded her brother, drily. 

10 


CHAPTER XIII 


A WARNING 

Good morning, Miss Frith. May I come in ? Are you 
very busy 

It was Rhoda who spoke, and she was mounted on Sul- 
tana outside the post office. It was her first ride since her 
accident, and greatly had she enjoyed 'it. 

Miss Frith looked a shade more worn and stern, but she 
came out at once and helped her to dismount, calling a 
small boy to hold the horse whilst she led her into the 
back sitting-room, which looked strangely empty without 
the familiar figure in the armchair. 

Rhoda took hold of her hand when she was seated. 
'‘Now tell me, if you can bear to speak of it. I have 
been praying for you and thinking of you so much lately.*’ 

" I can believe that. You know I am not a good letter- 
writer, and one can’t write about the thing dearest to one’s 
heart. I will tell you all I can ; I should like to.” Miss 
Frith paused; then she said, "I never can thank you 
enough for speaking to me as you did that day. I came 
back, and all the evening those words rang in my ears, 
'Keep not silence.’ She did not seem to be any worse, 
and her breathing was not so alarming as I had heard it 
before, but her spirits, as I told you, were very low, and 
she kept saying, 'I shan’t get over this, Susan.’ I tried 
to cheer her up ; but the next morning, when she kept on 
at the same refrain, I said to her, ' Well, Lucy, if you 
(146) 


A Warning 


147 


don’t get over it, what then ? ’ She shivered, and as I 
had broken the ice I went on, * If you know what it is to 
commit your soul to God’s keeping, you need have no 
fear; you’ll be only going home.’ * I couldn’t,’ she said; 
* I’ve wasted my life, and it is too late.’ I took my Bible 
up, and picked out a verse here and there to show her 
that she had only to come to the Cross as a sinner. She 
listened eagerly, but only shook her head when I asked 
her to pray. So I — I had a bit of prayer with her my- 
self. I felt easier in my mind after, and then the next 
day, in the afternoon, she was taken much worse. I sent 
for the doctor, and he came and did all he could ; but I 
knew then she was sinking. Just about twelve that night 
she seized my hand. ‘The blood — ' she gasped. ‘Say 
it.’ I repeated, ‘The blood of Jesus Christ His Son 
cleanseth us from all sin.’ She nodded her head, and 
those were the last words she said. I can’t help hoping 
she saw the truth before she went, but I don’t think I 
should ever have forgiven myself if I hadn’t said a word 
to her. Poor Lucy ! She was always spoilt by every one 
of us. I dare say if I had been different, I could have 
had more influence with her.” 

Miss Frith’s face quivered a little as she finished speak- 
ing, and Rhoda said gently, 

“It will be a great comfort to you to remember that 
God’s own words were the last on her lips. I am so glad 
and thankful you had the opportunity of speaking.” 

“I miss her dreadfully,” Miss Frith continued. “I 
sometimes think I won’t stay here, but then I must get 
my living somehow.” 

“I should be sorry for you to leave. Have you no 
relation to come and stay with you ? ” 


148 


On the Edge of a Moor 


None. I am best alone. 

Rhoda stayed some little time, and resolved to come 
down pretty often to try to cheer and comfort the lonely 
woman. As she was riding home, she met Mr. Rokeby, 
who turned back and rode for some distance with her. 

I am so glad to see you out again. How is the foot ? 

Getting on nicely, though I cannot stand on it yet. 
I don’t know what I should do without Sultana.” 

** She has proved a good investment on the whole. And 
are you scouring the moor, and visiting all your old friends 
again ? ” 

I hope to do so, but this is my first day out.” 

** I have some new tenants that I thought you might 
like to visit. They have taken the Cobbs’ place. When 
you are over in that direction, you might see what you 
can make of them. The father looks like a jail-bird ; he 
has two wild slips of girls ; the son is the most presentable 
of the lot.” 

^‘They do not sound promising,” said Rhoda, with a 
smile ; do you know nothing of them ? ” 

** I know they have been out to America, and not long 
been over here. He says he knows how to farm, and has 
some capital to start with. As you know, it is a tiny 
place. I thought perhaps you might get an influence over 
the girls. The son has got work on the line. There is 
no mother.” 

* ‘ I will certainly go to see them as soon as possible. 
Thank you for telling me about them.” 

‘'Are you going to recommence your Sunday service 
again ? ” 

“ I have promised to go over next Sunday.” 

“Miss Montague informed me that she was sometimes 


A Warning 149 

one of your audience. What do you make of her, I 
wonder ? 

I like her very much,** Rhoda replied simply. 

He smiled. ** You are on good terms with every one 
here. Even that silent postmistress brightens up at the 
sound of your name. How do you manage to ingratiate 
yourself into these people*s good graces?** 

** I don’t know. They have all welcomed me most 
kindly whenever I have been to see them. I haven’t met 
with any disagreeable people here yet.” 

** Present company excepted ? I did hear I was very 
disagreeable once.” 

‘‘ So I used to hear; but though I have not yet person- 
ally experienced it, I should not wonder if you could be.” 

** That is not the answer I expected. Cannot you com- 
fort me with the assurance that * you like me very much * ? 
You have not known Miss Montague as long as you have 
known me.” 

‘‘I have only known Mr. Rokeby for a few weeks. 
Miss Montague is a much older friend.” 

‘‘lam afraid you will not forget the past. Miss Carlton. 
It is not generous of you. You were much kinder to me 
when I was simple Mr. Wallace.” 

Rhoda skilfully changed the subject ; but as he left her, 
he said, — 

“ Do not be surprised if you see me stealing in and 
taking a back seat in the Tents* kitchen one afternoon 
when you are speaking. I do not see why I should be ex- 
cluded from all good things.” 

“ The man is getting troublesome,” muttered Rhoda to 
herself, with knitted brows, after they had parted; “I 
did not think I would have to deal with any of that sort 


On the Edge of a Moor 


ISO 

up here. He seems to consider my work as child^s play, 
a perpetual source of amusement to him. I wish he 
would go abroad, and leave me alone.** 

She came across one of the girls he had mentioned just 
as she was reaching home. A handsome, dark-haired 
young woman she was, with a shawl lightly thrown over 
her head, and a pile of faggots slung across her back. As 
Rhoda passed her, she looked up at her and returned her 
earnest gaze with a saucy laugh. 

Hope you’ll know me again, my lady.** 
beg your pardon,” Rhoda said at once; I was 
wondering if you were one of the fresh arrivals that I have 
heard about. Have you taken a little farm that used to 
belong to some people of the name of Cobb ? ** 

** That’s the ticket, though it seems folks are very spry 
on newcomers if you spot us so soon.” 

** I live on the moor myself,” Rhoda explained gently, 
‘‘so I know most of my neighbors. May I come and see 
you one day ? ** 

The girl hesitated ; then she said, “ Father will be out 
to-morrer — if you come then I don’t care.” 

“Very well, then, I will come. I wonder if you will 
get as fond of the moor as I am ! Look at the shadows of 
those clouds crossing the hills.” 

And Rhoda turned her radiant face to the blue distance 
beyond, where the sun was shedding its last rays before 
sinking into its golden bed. The girl looked at her, not 
at the hills, and a curious expression passed over her face; 
then she laughed. 

“ This style of country don’t suit me, though it do give 
one breathing space. London is the city for me, or New 
York.” 


A Warning 


151 

And then, setting off at a quick run, she began to 
whistle ‘‘Yankee Doodle”; whilst Rhoda put up a 
prayer that this fresh acquaintance must be influenced for 
good. The very next morning she had the following note 
from Mr. Rokeby : — 

Dear Miss Carlton, 

Please do not go to see the people I mentioned to you until 
I have seen you again. I will give you reasons later on. 

Yours sincerely, 

W. Rokeby. 

“Now,” said Rhoda emphatically to herself, “I will 
not stand this. I am not going to have him arranging 
whom I shall visit and whom I shall not. He is very fond 
of laying down the law, but I will not place myself under 
his instruction. It is like him, this note — cool and per- 
emptory ; it is quite sufficient to issue a command without 
giving any reasons for doing so ! And of course this 
means that he is coming to see me about them, and I will 
not have him visiting me here. Go I shall, most cer- 
tainly ! The question is whether I shall answer this or 
not. I think I shall take Hannah into my confidence.” 

Hannah was called in, but did not strengthen her young 
mistress in her resolve. 

“They may be a bad lot, and not fit for a lady to 
visit,” she said. 

“ Nonsense, Hannah ; what harm could they do me? I 
promised the girl to go. She said her father would be 
out, and I never break a promise if I can help it.” 

Hannah looked doubtful. 

“ It is only kindness on Mr. Rokeby's part, mum; he 
must feel they aren^t the right sort of people to visit, and 


152 


On the Edge of a Moor 


as he himself suggested your going to them, I can under- 
stand his writing to warn you against them now/* 

Rhoda’s head was moved a little impatiently. 

Kindness ! I don’t want kindness from him. He is 
nothing to me, nor I to him. If he once begins interfering 
with my visiting, there will be no end to it. I will not 
allow him to have control over my actions. No, I will 
not get angry about it — it is not worth that — but the fact 
is, Hannah, I do not wish to become on intimate terms 
with him. I fear 1 have been too friendly, and the less 
we have to do with each other the better. I think I will 
answer this note after I have been over this afternoon.” 

Hannah said no more, but walked into the kitchen, and 
there began muttering to herself, as was her wont when 
somewhat perturbed. 

She will treat him as she has treated the rest of them. 
She sees now, I expect, what I’ve seen for some time — he 
shows his admiration in the very way he looks at her. I 
wish she weren’t so masterful. I should like to see her 
comfortably settled in a home of her own, and Mr. 
Rokeby and she would make a splendid couple. Still, if 
he is not religious, it would be a terrible thing for her ; 
and it’s difficult to say if she mayn’t be doing right by 
nipping it in the bud. But he is a kind, open-handed 
gentleman — I am sorry she takes his friendliness amiss. I 
suppose I have been a fool, a-building castles in the air 
over them. She would help him so much if it could be. 
I shan’t forget the way he looked at her when he put her 
into the carriage to come back here from staying at 
Rokeby Court. And I knew what was a-coming when he 
gets his sister to come and call. I wonder now what he 
said yesterday to her, to make her take up this haughty 


A Warning 


153 


way of hers again. Sometimes she’s like a child, with 
her bright laugh and high spirits ; but when she gets on 
her high stilts, as I may say, no one dursn’t say a word ! ” 

Rhoda had recovered her equanimity of mind before 
she started for her ride that afternoon. Her foot was 
rapidly healing, and she was hoping before long to begin 
walking again. She rode along slowly, enjoying the brac- 
ing air and the sweet smell of the gorse and broom that 
here and there- brightened up the dull brown of the dry 
heather. Larks were rising up, carolling out their sweet 
songs, and, soaring into the bright blue sky, were soon 
lost to sight. Now and then a hawk would poise in mid 
air with fluttering wings, and then swiftly swoop down 
into the valley below after its prey ; and the rabbits 
chased each other in quick succession across her path. 

She was never nervous, least of all when she was on 
horseback ; yet, as she came near the dwelling of which 
she was in search, she could not help allowing that it was 
in a very lonely, isolated position. 

She noticed that it was now in good repair, but there 
did not seem to be a sign of any one about. Carefully 
she dismounted, tied her horse to a rough piece of fencing 
near, and with the help of a stout stick she had brought 
with her, made her way to the door. It was fast shut, 
but she heard the sound of men’s voices in close alterca- 
tion, and after she had knocked sharply there was a sud- 
den lull. For some minutes she waited, then knocked 
again ; when the door suddenly burst open, and an evil 
looking man, with closely cropped head and large, square 
jaw, thrust his head out, and greeted her with a volley of 
oaths and curses and much abuse, telling her to go about 
her business and not come ^‘spying out decent folk’s 


154 


On the Edge of a Moor 


dwellings.** ** And if you show your nose round this part 
again it will be the worse for you ! ” 

Rhoda was quite staggered by such a reception, and 
before she could offer a word of explanation, the door 
was banged in her face and locked and bolted inside. 
She hesitated for a moment, then, very crestfallen, retraced 
her steps and mounted Sultana. As it was early in the 
afternoon, she thought she would go on a little farther, 
and then, descending into the valley over which she was 
looking, would ride back through Ashampton on the other 
side of the river. 

She had not been so far in this direction before, and 
for a time the loveliness of the country around her took 
off her thoughts from her disagreeable experience. Pres- 
ently she noticed a little cottage standing in a small belt 
of fir-trees, and, always on the lookout for fresh spheres 
for work, she made her way up to it. A little girl of 
twelve or so was hanging up some clothes to dry in the 
yard as she approached. 

wonder if you could give me a glass of milk?** 
Rhoda asked, bringing forward her usual excuse for enter- 
ing the doors of a fresh place. 

‘'Yes, miss; please come in.** 

Rhoda dismounted, and entered a tidy little kitchen. 
Whilst waiting there, she heard a voice in an adjoining 
room calling out, — 

“ Nellie ! Nellie ! Who is it? ** 

The door was ajar, and as the child was out of hearing, 
Rhoda stepped up, saying, “ It is a stranger asking for a 
glass of milk. May I come in ? ** 

“Yes, please, do.** 

And Rhoda, stepping in, found stretched on a bed 


A Warning 155 

drawn close to a small latticed window a comparatively 
young woman, who greeted her with a pleased smile. 

** Sit down, ma’am. I rarely see visitors. It whiles 
away the time to see a fresh face.” 

Are you ill ? ” inquired Rhoda, sympathetically. 

‘^Bedridden for life,” the woman said sadly. 
shall never be on my legs again.” 

‘‘ Oh, how sad ! How did it happen ? ” 

It was an attack of rheumatism — rheumatic fever the 
doctor called it. I was out picking worts two years 
ago on the moor, and a mist came on, and I lost my way 
and was out all night. The wet and the cold did it, I 
suppose. It has been a weary time here, but one gets ac- 
customed to anything in time, and I’m reconciled now. 
I’m quite crippled and helpless, but I have the use of my 
hands, and I’m thankful for that.” 

Rhoda sat down by the bedside, and was soon hearing 
all the family history. The poor woman’s husband, 
Richard Dyke by name, worked in some quarries a little 
distance off, and Nellie, their only child, looked after the 
house and her mother. 

She’s turned fifteen, though she looks small, and 
ought to be in service, only we can’t spare her. I don't 
know what we should do without her ! I am able to 
make some crotchet mats, and she goes to the market 
at Ashampton every Saturday with butter and eggs, and 
sells my mats as well. She’s a careful little maid, she 
is! ” 

You’re not a native of these parts yourself? ” Rhoda 
asked. 

** No. I’ve been in service all my life, and was parlor- 
maid to old Mrs. Hutton the other side of Ashampton. 


156 On the Edge of a Moor 

Maybe you know her. She owns the old castle by the 
river, and a lot of property joining Mr. Rokeby’s.” 

I have never met her,” said Rhoda. I suppose you 
married from her house, then ? ” 

Yes. She gave us a handsome clock as a present. 
It stands in the kitchen. She often used to say to me, 
‘Jane, you’ll live to repent leaving me;’ but I don’t 
think I have. I’ve a good husband.” 

Rhoda marvelled at the quiet patience in her tone, and 
told her of her own experience when laid by. From that 
she went on to talk about the subject most dear to her 
heart, and Mrs. Dyke lay still and listened, with a soft- 
ened, interested look upon her face. Before Rhoda went, 
she had a few words of prayer, and Mrs. Dyke said, with 
tears in her eyes, as she was wishing her good-bye, — 

“Come again and see me, will you, ma’am? You 
don’t know what it is to have a visit like this. We might 
be heathen up here — we never see a soul to speak to about 
such things. Clergy seem very scarce about here, and 
no one seems to trouble about this side of the moor. I’m 
not very religious myself, but I do make Richard read a 
chapter of the Bible to me every Sunday, and Nellie goes 
down to the chapel Sunday school in Ashampton of a 
Sunday morning. I was brought up well, and since I’ve 
been lying here I’ve often thought over things and wanted 
to be a bit different.” 

Rhoda promised to come again soon, and left the cot- 
tage with a lightened heart, feeling very thankful for the 
cheery opening for work. Then she made her way down 
the valley, crossed a low stone bridge, and got upon the 
high-road leading to Ashampton. Shortly afterwards she 
met, to her surprise, the girl to whom she had spoken the 


A Warning 


157 


day before, and reined up to speak to her ; but she evaded 
her by springing across a stone wall into a field close by, 
calling out as she did so, — 

We don’t want nought of you, and if you’ve been to 
our place, you know it ! ” 

You told me your father would be out,” Rhodasaid, 
a little indignantly. 

The girl laughed. ‘‘ Might as well try to tell a swal- 
low’s flittings as his. If he says he’ll be out, he’ll be in ; 
and if he says he’ll be in, he’ll be out, as sure as nuts is 
nuts. You go your way and leave us alone ; but I warn 
you, if you’re found spying round our place, you’ll get 
into trouble.” 

And then away she ran across the field with another 
derisive laugh, whilst Rhoda went on her way, feeling 
vexed and chagrined to find that she had better have 
followed Mr. Rokeby’s advice. 

‘‘And yet, Hannah,” she said, when talking it over 
that evening, “ I feel I was guided to that poor woman. I 
should never have discovered her whereabouts, if I had 
not gone to the other place.” 

She sent the following reply to Mr. Rokeby that night : — 

Dear Mr. Rokeby, 

Many thanks for your warning about your new tenants. 
Please do not trouble to give me your reasons, as I have been there 
this afternoon and do not intend at present to repeat my visit. I 
should hardly think, from what I have seen of them, that they are 
an improvement upon the Cobbs. I remain, yours truly, 

Rhoda Carlton. 

And Mr. Rokeby first frowned, then smiled, as he read 
this note, and, folding it up, consigned it to a small 
drawer in his writing-desk, in company with others bear- 
ing the same signature. 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN AUDACIOUS THEFT 

Rhoda was very busy now, seeing her old friends. 
Robin and his wife told her how they had missed her 
weekly visit and reading. 

*‘Us do be filled up and comforted by your bit o* 
chat,** said the old man. ** *Tis very instructive for we, 
an* my old woman hur saith t*other marnin*, ‘ Robin,* hur 
saith, * a*m thinkin* the Lord*s Book be, arter all zaid and 
done, a deal more interestin* than yonner Ashampton 
paper ! * * 

Poll nodded her head sagely. You do be as good as 
a passon in how you read an* explanize. If me dear 
departed Harry had but a heerd o* you, maybe you cood 
*a turned he vrom the drink, an* kep* he alive to this day. 
But then there be Robin to be thought o*. Us must be 
thanvul he were a-tooken afore I gotted vull tried o* he ! ** 

But none seemed to thirst for her visits so much as 
Mrs. Dyke, and yet Rhoda shrank from going to her very 
often. Her most direct way led past the house she had 
been warned to avoid, and she generally made a detour 
when near it, for she felt strangely nervous of encounter- 
ing Tom Evans, the surly owner, again. She neither saw 
nor heard anything of Mr. Rokeby, and sometimes won- 
dered what his communication to her about them would 
have been. 

One afternoon she had left Mrs. Dyke rather late; 
(158) 


An Audacious 1 heft 


159 


her husband had come in, and Rhoda had been trying 
to persuade him to come over to the Sunday service. As 
she rode along, the gathering dusk made her determine 
to ride straight past the Evanses, for she did not want to 
be out later than possible. She urged Sultana on as she 
came near, and drew a breath of relief as she passed in 
safety. Lights were in the windows, and, judging from 
the noise going on inside, there were plenty of people 
within. She was wondering why they always seemed to 
be having company, when suddenly, as she passed under 
the shadow of a thorn bush, a man sprang out, and seized 
her bridle with such a powerful hand, that Sultana was 
brought to a standstill with the jerk. 

Rhoda’s heart beat violently. She could not recognize 
the figure, as his hat was well over his face, but a harsh 
voice commanded her to get down, and she felt the only 
thing was to obey. 

‘‘What do you want?^* she demanded, thinking, of 
course, that the next thing would be a request for her 
purse. 

But not a word did the man say ; he turned Sultana's 
head, vaulted into the saddle, and was out of sight before 
she could recover from her fright. 

Rhoda stood still for a moment, quite dazed, and then, 
realizing how utterly unprotected she was, and how easy 
it was to rob, or perhaps even murder her, without a 
chance of escape, she set off running as fast as she could 
from the ill-fated place. Her foot was far from strong, 
and she made slow progress. More than once she tripped 
and fell in the long heather and bracken, a hidden piece 
of rock or a hole in the ground being the cause; but 
gradually, as she got farther away and there were no signs 


i6o On the Edge of a Moor 

of any pursuer, she came to the conclusion that it was 
her horse and not herself that was wanted, and took 
courage. Nearly an hour later, she staggered rather than 
walked into her cottage, and Hannah, seeing her white 
face and exhausted state, could not repress an exclama- 
tion of alarm. But wisely she held her tongue, gave her 
a cup of hot coffee, put her into an easy-chair by the fire, 
and took off her damp clothes herself ; and Rhoda was 
soon able to tell her of her misadventure. 

‘‘I don’t know what to do, I am so exhausted. Ought 
I not to put it into the hands of the police ? Jock has 
gone home, I suppose. Oh, Hannah, I cannot lose 
Sultana ! ” 

There’s not much chance of the police being able to 
do anything to-night, mum. I’m afraid the thief will have 
got clean away. It’s such a benighted place. There’s 
only one policeman in Ashampton, I do believe. Now, if 
only Mr. Rokeby knew of it, he would know what to do.” 

** I think I will go to bed. My ankle is hurting dread- 
fully, I do hope I shall not have to lie up again. I hardly 
knew how to get home. Oh, Hannah, if I have lost 
Sultana, what shall I do? I am so dependent on her.” 

'^We won’t talk no more about it, mum, to-night.” 

And Rhoda was so overcome by her fright and fatigue, 
that when, a little later, Hannah put her to bed, she sank 
at once into a heavy slumber, and never woke till broad 
daylight the next morning. 

She persisted in getting up, though her ankle was 
swollen and painful, and when Jock arrived, told him she 
would like him to go down to Ashampton and fetch the 
policeman up to speak to her. Jock stood with open 
mouth and eyes listening to the explanation that followed, 


An Audacious Theft 


i6i 


and then started off at a quick run down the lane. His 
pace soon slackened, however. Such a piece of news did 
not often fall to him to tell, and he looked about for some 
one to whom he might communicate it. He had not to 
wait long; an old farm-laborer met him, and Jock 
dilated to his heart’s content upon the shocking adventure 
that had befallen his mistress. 

Oi’ve never heerd tell afore on a young leddy bein’ 
left, an’ t’hoss bein’ taken. It be allays the t’other way; 
the young leddy do be the prize ! ” and the old man 
rubbed his head dubiously. Then he added slowly, ‘‘ ’Ee 
be but a thick-headed lad. Be ’un the young leddy that 
be taken an’ t’ boss coom home wi’out she? ” 

Ay,” retorted Jock, stolidly, ‘‘an’ t’hoss have axed 
me to fetch the perlice, an’ not baide wastin’ me toime 
over a dunder-head numskull ! ” 

He quickened his pace after this, but stopped to repeat 
his story at the first cottage he passed, and then, as he 
approached the station, which was midway down the hill, 
he saw Mr. Rokeby riding leisurely toward it in front of 
him. It was too great a temptation to Jock. Racing 
after him, he called out, “ Hoi ! Hoi ! ” till Mr. Rokeby 
looked round, wondering if the boy was demented. 

“ The missus’ black boss be run off wi’ ! ” shouted Jock. 
He had the gratification of seeing interest at once 
aroused. Mr. Rokeby brought his horse to a standstill, 
and questioned and cross-questioned him, till poor Jock 
began to wish he had been more discreet. Then, after 
getting as much of the truth out of him as was possible, 
Mr. Rokeby turned his horse’s head, and, leaving Jock to 
continue on his errand, cantered up the hill again as fast 
as he could go, and never drew rein till he reached 

II 


On the Edge of a Moor 


163 

Rhoda's cottage. He found her on the couch by the fire, 
and she turned round on his entrance with a relieved air. 

wonder if you can help me, Mr. Rokeby?” she 
said, almost appealingly ; for the loss of Sultana weighed 
heavily on her, and it was no time to stand on her dignity 
with him. 

‘‘I will, if I possibly can. I have heard of your loss 
from your boy going down to Ashampton, and that is what 
has brought me. Will you give me the exact details ? ** 
Rhoda did so calmly and quietly, but as she noted Mr. 
Rokeby’s knitted brows and flashing eyes during her re- 
cital, she said, ** I know what you are going to say — that 
I have brought it upon myself. I own I may have, and 
yet I believe I would do it again if it were only to comfort 
and talk to that poor woman.** 

You take your own way, and it is not for me tore- 
mark on it,** he said gravely, almost coldly; then he 
added, ** May I ask with what kind of reception you met 
when you went to the Evans*s ? ** 

** The father opened the door, swore at me, and banged 
it in my face. I suppose you think that served me right ? 
I must say I wonder at your taking such tenants — they are 
making our moorside quite unsafe.** 

I do not think they will be here long. Was it the 
father or the son who took your horse, do you think? ** 
Neither, as far as I could see. This was an elderly 
man with a short grey beard, but I could not see his face.** 
** Do you think he had any connection with the Evans’s?** 
I should think so. It was only just past the cottage. 
What do you know about them ? Why did you send 
me a warning ? ** 

Mr. Rokeby smiled. Which warning you considered 


An Audacious Theft 


163 

extremely impertinent and unnecessary, and which you 
totally disregarded, giving me to understand that I ought 
to know my place better than to venture to interfere with 
any of your proceedings, even though it was at my insti- 
gation you were visiting them.” 

Rhoda colored. It is ungenerous to triumph over my 
fall,” she said. 

I have a new agent, a clever man, and he liked the 
look of Evans so little that he traced him back to America, 
and there found that he had been imprisoned for counter- 
feiting coin. He was only one of a gang, and our sus- 
picions were aroused here by seeing several other men in 
the habit of shutting themselves up with him toward night. 
I rather think they fancy they have got hold of a nice 
quiet place, and will be at liberty to carry out their nefa- 
rious practices without any fear of molestation. My agent, 
Mr. Hughes, had kept me in the dark over this, or I would 
never have dreamed of asking you to visit them. When I 
returned home after seeing you, he told me, and I thought 
I could do no less than send you a line.” 

Rhoda was silent. 

He continued, ** Hughes has been employing a detect- 
ive this last week to watch them, but where he was last 
night I cannot imagine. He is staying at the Dragon in 
Ashampton, and he will be of more help to us now than 
this country policeman. It looks to me as if one of the 
principal leaders in it has scented something, and has 
made off, using your horse with that object.” 

In which case I am not likely to see her again. I 
really don’t know what I shall do. I am afraid I shall be 
perfectly helpless, tied to the house again, for I am no 
good at walking at present, as I proved last night.” 


164 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Mr. Rokeby looked sympathetic, then said, with a little 
hesitation in his tone, I wish you would do me the 
favor of exercising one of my horses for a short time. 
They are eating their heads off in the stables from want 
of work. And I have a chestnut which would carry you 
well, as gentle and sure-footed as a moor pony. Let me 
have the pleasure of sending her over to you till Sultana 
returns.*^ 

** Thank you very much,*’ was the decided reply, ‘‘but 
I could not think of such a thing. No, I shall get on in 
time, and be able to walk, I hope, as I used to do before 
Sultana was given to me.” 

“ I wish you were a little less proud. Miss Carlton.” 

Rhoda looked up, and met his keen, amused glance 
unflinchingly. 

“ I am never at ease on a borrowed horse,” she said, 
“ but I appreciate the kindness of your offer. If you can 
find Sultana for me I shall be truly grateful.” 

“Will you allow me to wait for the advent of this 
policeman ? ” 

“ I shall be very glad for you to see him and take the 
matter into your hands.” 

And this Mr. Rokeby did, for when the policeman ar- 
rived, Rhoda had only to listen and answer the few 
questions put to her. He was able to give them the in- 
formation that the detective had planned a surprise, and, 
taking several stalwart fellows up with him the night be- 
fore, visited the cottage in the hopes of capturing the 
party whilst actually engaged in their business. How 
they got wind of it, no one knew, but when he arrived 
there, the father and daughters were engaged in the peace- 
able act of eating their supper, and, though they made a 


An Audacious Theft 165 

thorough search of the premises, nothing was found that 
could implicate them. 

The detective was not to be balked, however, and was 
now scouring the moor in the hopes of coming across 
those that had made their escape. 

‘‘We can do nothing at present,*' Mr. Rokeby said. 
^^It is possible he may trace them, but not probable.’* 

** Sultana is not fleet of foot,** Rhoda remarked; ‘^she 
is an old horse, and, if tried beyond her strength, will 
collapse, I feel sure. In either case I am afraid it is a 
bad lookout for me. Have you given them notice to quit, 
Mr. Rokeby ? ** 

‘‘ Not yet.** 

When both men had left Rhoda limped into the 
kitchen. 

‘‘ Hannah, I feel like Job. It seems one trouble after 
another. How am I to get across to the Tents* next 
Sunday ? It stops all my work again.** 

‘^Perhaps Mr. Rokeby ** 

* * Mr. Rokeby, of course, has offered me the use of one 
of his horses. But I could not take it. It would be out 
of the question. I wish I was a little richer. Sultana 
costs me a good bit to keep, and I feel I cannot go to the 
expense of hiring an animal from Ashampton. No, I 
must be content to stay quietly at home for the present. 
I am afraid I have partly brought it upon myself. I 
know that is Mr. Rokeby’s opinion.** 

Very little causes excitement in a small country village, 
and Ashampton and neighborhood were soon aware of 
Rhoda’s loss. 

The day after. Miss Montague came up to see her. 

My dear Miss Carlton, you are quite a heroine I 


1 66 On the Edge of a Moor 

You will be having newspaper reporters from Exeter to in- 
terview you. I am astonished to see you looking so well. 
The first account that I heard was that you had been 
robbed, and nearly murdered by a highwayman. Next, 
that it was your horse that was murdered, and you had to 
run for your life ; then that your horse fled in fright, and 
you had a hand-to-hand fight with your assailant. I am 
hoping to hear a true account now.** 

Rhoda gave it, and Miss Montague heaved a sigh of 
relief. 

‘^Well, it*s only a horse. Ask your brother to send 
you another one. It is absurd to think you will ever have 
it back again.** 

** My brother isn*t rolling in riches,** Rhoda said, smil- 
ing. ‘^No, it was an expensive luxury, and I shall be 
better without one, perhaps. It is my foot that disables 
me so. When that gets well I shall be able to tramp the 
country again, but until that time comes I shall be a 
prisoner here, I*m afraid.** 

I will come up and visit you as often as I can. Have 
you plenty of books ? I can lend you any amount of 
novels, but I suppose you* re too good to read those. Who 
is going to do the preaching up here next Sunday? I 
heard you had started again.** 

They must get on without me for a Sunday or two 
more ; ** and a sigh followed her words. 

‘‘That is a pity. Look here, may I come up and 
spend Sunday afternoon with you here, and then you can 
preach to me to keep your hand in ? I really mean it. I 
will come up in a Sunday frame of mind, and will let you 
talk to me exactly as you choose. Is it a bargain ! ** 

“ I shall be glad to see you,** Rhoda said evasively. 


An Audacious Theft 


167 


Very well, then I shall come.’^ 

And after talking away for some time longer, Miss 
Montague took her leave, saying as she did so, ‘‘ Don't 
be down-hearted about your horse, nor about your meet- 
ing. I always look upon you as one of the most sensible 
young women that I know, and I do believe it is not cant 
with you, but principle. Don't you believe in a Provi- 
dence arranging things for you ? Then isn't it all right? " 

Rhoda's bright smile shone out again at this, and with 
a nod of approval Miss Montague departed. 


CHAPTER XV 


A STRAIGHT TALK 

Mr. Rokeby came and went for the next few days with 
news of the Evans's and their friends, but nothing could 
be proved against them. The real culprits seemed to 
have escaped, and no trace could be found of them or of 
the horse. 

As he was wishing Rhoda good-bye at the garden gate, 
after the last of these interviews, he said, looking at her 
intently, I do not think you will be tempted to go past 
the Evans' house just yet, but I wish you would promise 
me you will not go near the neighborhood for the present." 

I am not likely to be able to walk so far for some 
time," said Rhoda, a little coldly. never make 

promises to any one." 

** I only asked it for your own sake," he urged. You 
have no one to look after you here. It is not safe for you 
to be in their vicinity by yourself. Your brothers, I think, 
would be the first to say so." 

Rhoda smiled. 

** My brothers have given me up as incorrigible, long 
ago. I shall not do anything rash, but when I get stronger 
on my feet, I shall go to see Mrs. Dyke, if I can possibly 
manage it." 

Will you not take some one with you ? I would offer 
myself as an escort with pleasure, but I feel I would not be 
acceptable." 

(i68) 


A Straight Talk 


169 

‘‘No, thank you. I always like to do my visiting 
alone. After all, Mr. Rokeby, you can easily make the 
coast clear for me. Why do you keep such disreputable 
tenants? 

Mr. Rokeby looked amused. 

“And this is from the lady who has hitherto always 
stood up for the tenants’ rights, and written furious notes 
to the unjust and arrogant landlord demanding justice for 
the oppressed ! Are you aware that a landlord cannot 
turn a tenant out without a quarter’s notice, especially 
when he has no ground for ejecting them?” 

Rhoda looked rather crestfallen, and then laughed. 

“But you should not have taken them in the first in- 
stance without more careful inquiry. We have been so 
peaceful and quiet up here till they came. If a system of 
robbing and bullying all who go their way is to be the 
order of things now, we have you to thank for it.” 

“And that is why I venture to plead with you not to 
expose yourself to the chance of another experience like 
that of a few nights ago. I plead guilty to bringing un- 
safe characters here. Is it too much to ask you to keep 
away from them ? ” 

Their eyes met ; and there was something in his earn- 
est look that made her say hastily, “ Very well ! I promise 
to take Hannah with me the next time I go. That must 
content you.” 

“ Thank you,” he said simply, and left her. 

“It is no concern of his what I do, and where I go,” 
she said musingly. “ It ought not to interest him in the 
least. I cannot bear the idea of being considered unpro- 
tected. As if I want a bodyguard always dogging my 
footsteps ! I did hope, when I came up here, that I 


I/O 


On the Edge of a Moor 


should have perfect liberty and independence. I wish I 
need have no intercourse with him.*' 

The next day was Sunday ; and, true to her promise, 
Miss Montague arrived early in the afternoon, and brought 
Rhoda a lovely bouquet of flowers. 

** How are you bearing your confinement to the house ? ’* 
she asked, settling herself in a big chair opposite Rhoda, 
and arranging the cushions to her liking. 

** Badly, 1 am afraid," was the truthful answer. ‘‘I 
can't help worrying over the loss of my horse at times, but 
I hope I am learning my lesson. I am trying to be at rest 
about it." 

They talked for some time, then Miss Montague said, — 
I heard to-day that Mr. Rokeby intends to go abroad 
again soon, with his sister. You are such friends that I 
should think you would quite miss him." 

** I see very little of him, as a rule. Lately, he has 
taken this matter of my horse into his hands, but I shall 
be very thankful if he goes abroad. I came here to work 
amongst the poor, and I like to do it with perfect freedom." 

** I don't believe you like men better than I do," said 
Miss Montague, laughing; wonder if you came here 
to get away from them? " 

** I don't dislike the sex," Rhoda replied gravely, ** be- 
cause I have always been a great deal amongst them. I 
am the only girl, and have seven brothers who have all 
their particular cranks and crotchets ; but I never had any 
difficulty in living with them." 

And you don't think that they are all selfish creatures? 
Don't be shocked at my plain speaking. May I give you 
a little of my experience? " 

Do." 


A Straight Talk 


171 


At seventeen I was engaged to be married to a young 
fellow in the Guards only a few years my senior, and I 
think we both imagined ourselves desperately in love with 
each other. I suppose we were both too young, and be- 
ing equally headstrong,, soon came to grief. I found he 
expected me to minister to his wants and pleasures on 
every occasion, and I asked him one day if this was his 
idea of a woman’s duty. * Most certainly,’ was his calm 
reply ; ^ after marriage, if not before it.’ ‘ Then you can 
get some one else to marry you,’ I said, ^ for I certainly 
will not be your victim.’ And we never spoke to each 
other again. You are smiling, and I can smile too now, 
though at the time I was in misery about it. But a few 
years after I got over it, and went out to India to my 
father, who was a judge there. I pinned my faith, whilst 
there, to a barrister. We were engaged for nine months, 
and then I overheard a few chance remarks of his to a 
friend one day. * Do you know pretty Rose Finch is 
pining for you at home ? ’ his friend said ; ‘ I saw her just 
before I came out again.’ 

** ‘ She ought to have got over it by this time,’ said my 
fiance, * I have, very nearly. When I wrote to break it 
olf I was desperate, but time heals such wounds. You see 
she hadn’t a penny to bless herself with. What could I 
do? A man cannot support a wife on an income that 
will only just suffice for his own needs.’ 

‘ You are in luck now, at any rate.’ 

' As far as pounds, shillings, and pence go, I am,’ 
was the reply. 

‘‘You will not be surprised to hear that when we first 
met after that I gave him his congCy and my faith in genu- 
ine affection was shattered again. I suppose it was foolish 


1/2 


On the Edge of a Moor 


of me to trust another man, but I did, and this time it 
was a London doctor who was an earnest worker, a phi- 
lanthropist. I really believed in that man, and began to 
feel interested in better things. I must tell you this was 
after my father’s death, when I was making my home 
again in England. We were within a few weeks of our 
marriage, when a crash came in the company in which 
most of my money was invested. * What a mercy,’ I said 
to myself, * that it will make no difference to me ! My 
future husband is not mercenary, as he has often assured 
me his feelings would be exactly the same if I did not 
possess a penny ! ’ And knowing that he was enjoying a 
very fair income, I went cheerfully on making prepara- 
tions for our wedding. The week before the day that was 
fixed for our marriage, I received a note from him to the 
effect that he was in great trouble, as he felt more and 
more how unsuited I was to help him in all his good work ; 
he had been fighting with his conscience for weeks, but he 
dared not marry me without telling me of his scruples and 
doubts concerning our union, &c. I needn’t tell you 
more. It was sickening cant to me ; all his conscientious 
motives were laid bare by his sister telling me of the awful 
state of mind he had been in since hearing of my loss, and 
how impossible it was for him to contemplate a marriage 
with a penniless girl ! What do you think of my experi- 
ence of mankind. Miss Carlton ? ” 

I think you have been unfortunate, and I feel very 
sorry for you.” 

'‘You need not. I have got over it. I am afraid I 
flirted with lots of men after that, but never was so fool- 
ish as to lose my heart to any; and I soon discovered that 
my reduced income made a great difference in my attraC’* 


A Straight Talk 


173 


tions. I have not become soured with it, only I have 
learned to live my life happily without men, and you will 
be wise if you do the same.’* 

There was silence for a few moments, then Miss Mon- 
tague said, — 

Now, are you ready to give me a Bible lesson ? That 
is what I came for, you know, not to talk gossip.” 

Shall we read a little together? ” Rhoda said, putting 
out her hand for her Bible, which was always close at 
hand, and breathing an inward prayer for guidance as she 
did so. 

Miss Montague’s eyes twinkled ominously, but she took 
a Bible that was offered to her in silence, and then Rhoda 
suggested reading part of the seventeenth chapter of Jere- 
miah. When they came to the fifth verse, Miss Montague 
looked up. 

don’t mean to be irreverent, but may I say of the 
first part of this verse that * them’s my sentiments ’ ? Did 
you choose it d propos of our talk just now? ” 

‘^No, I did not remember the exact words. It only 
seems to give us two wonderful pictures — light and dark- 
ness — winter and summer — and since I have lived on the 
moor I can picture the desolate scene in the sixth verse so. 
Shall we read on ? ” 

They did so ; and then Rhoda said softly, It seems to 
me such a wonderful contrast, that one wonders, if we 
believe the reality of it, that we can put ourselves under 
the curse and not under the blessing. And the curse is 
not on the outwardly immoral and ungodly, only on those 
who place their confidence in themselves, whose hearts 
are out of the Lord’s keeping.” 

** You are giving it to me hot and strong, with a venge- 


174 


On the Edge of a Moor 


ance,” murmured Miss Montague. I did not know 
you had me up here to curse me ! ** 

But her eyes were scanning the page intently as she 
spoke. 

Anyhow/^ she added, ‘‘my experience is not at all 
that of the sixth verse. I’m a very happy person, in my 
way, and I don’t feel I’m living in a parched land at all.” 

“Don’t you think the soul may be in a parched land, 
though the body may be in prosperous circumstances ? 
Now, shall we look at the eighth verse? Isn’t it a beauti- 
ful picture of a happy life; like a tree sucking in moisture 
underneath and out of sight, having an inexhaustible 
fountain to feed its growth, quite independent of all out- 
side means, so that in hard, difficult times, when, others 
around would be withered up with blasts of adversity, this 
one would stand fresh and beautiful, never ceasing to yield 
fruit for its Maker? ” 

Miss Montague knitted her brows. “You go on too 
fast for me in your eloquence. I don’t think the verse 
says all that. ‘ Shall not see when heat cometh ’ — what 
does that mean, may I ask ? ” 

“ Doesn’t it mean that we shall not notice the troubles 
that would naturally distress us? It is an Eastern image, 
and I suppose the blazing waves of heat are to be dreaded 
for most trees there, when there is so little rain to keep 
them cool.” 

“Go on.” 

“ I like to put another verse with this. Shall we turn 
to it ? It is the third chapter of Habakkuk. ‘ Although 
the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the 
vines; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall 
yield no meat ; the flock shall be cut off from the fold. 


A Straight Talk 


175 

and there shall be no herd in the stalls : yet I will rejoice 
in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation/ The 
first half seems such utter poverty, doesn’t it? The last 
as rich as any one can be ! It is a case of leaf being 
green in the blazing heat, of not being careful or anxious 
in the year of drought.” 

Then what a trifle the loss of your horse must be,” 
Miss Montague said mischievously. 

'^It is,” said Rhoda, with shining eyes, ‘^when I get 
to verses like this. That is where this Book is such a 
comfort. A verse or two like these seem to lift one up al- 
together out of the slough of despond. It makes me feel 
so ashamed of my groans over my small troubles. I know 
I am a bad practicer of what I preach, but I am only a 
beginner in God’s school, and when I look up such pas- 
sages as this, it is a splendid tonic. I chose this chapter 
quite as much for myself as for you. I am so fond of 
it.” 

don’t think I have ever read or heard those verses 
before. Now, go on with your description of a Chris- 
tian’s life, and see if you cannot make my mouth water ! ” 
Rhoda was not shocked with the apparent flippancy of 
tone. Her heart was longing after the bright, worldly 
little woman in front of her, and she said most earnestly, — 
** Oh, how I wish I could. Miss Montague ! But it is 
the Holy Spirit who will give you that longing. I have 
only experienced the reality of it myself for a few years. 
Soon after I left school, I began to think seriously of life ; 
and for a long time I seemed to be seeking after light 
which did not come. I hardly know when I found it. It 
was the Bible showed me Christ, and I saw at last if I 
took Him as my Saviour, I took all the riches of heaven 


176 


On the Edge of a Moor 


with Him. I don’t think any one can describe the deep, 
restful satisfaction and joy it is to live with Him and for 
Him every day. Nothing — no one — can mar the peace 
that passes understanding, that keeps our hearts and minds 
through all that comes. I suppose it is only by looking 
back to our former life that we see how intensely barren 
it was in every way.” 

Miss Montague laid her head back on the cushions, and 
watched Rhoda’s glowing face as she spoke. 

‘'You are an enthusiast,” she said; “some people 
would tell you all this was a dream or a fancy. But I’m 
not sceptical myself. I believe you have something that I 
have not, and I have been secretly envying you for that 
possession for some time past, let me tell you. I am go- 
ing to quote Bible words : ‘Almost thou persuadest me 
to be a Christian ! ’ Buty and this is a very big ‘but,’ I 
tell you frankly, if it entails my going into dirty houses 
in Ashampton, and visiting the sick and the poor, and the 
loathsome and the vile, I cannot, and I will not, do it ! 
Now then, what have you to say to me? ” 

“You would do anything and everything for Him, Miss 
Montague, if you once came to Him and knew Him ! ” 

“ But don’t you see this prevents my ‘ coming to Him,’ 
as you term it ? ” 

“ I suppose it may do so. I think if you were to have 
a sight of your own heart, as I had, and realize that for 
living away from, and rejecting Christ, God’s wrath is 
daily and hourly over your head, that would prevent you 
from weighing your soul’s salvation with your own momen- 
tary ease and comfort.” 

“ Now, that is hitting out very straight ! I think I 
have had enough for to-day. I will think it over. Don’t 


A Straight Talk 


177 


I hear the clattering of tea-cups in the other room? Am 
I going to be rewarded by some tea? 

And when Hannah came in a few moments after with 
the afternoon tea, Miss Montague looked up laughingly 
into her face and said, I have had my powder — I took 
it well — and now it is over, and here is the jam ! 

As she took her departure a little later, she said half 
seriously, half comically, ‘‘We have come to very close 
quarters this afternoon, but I don’t know that I should 
care for a repetition of it. So you must give me your 
word before I go that you will not attack me again on the 
same subject till I give you leave. I will not be bullied 
into it, and though you have not badgered me much yet, 
I am always in fear of you, especially if you think you 
see signs of my coming round. I know what you good 
people are like ! Promise me that you will leave me alone.” 

Rhoda could not help laughing, and Miss Montague 
joined her. “ I certainly promise. I did not start the 
subject this afternoon, remember.” 

“ No, I brought it upon myself. I wanted to hear 
your side of the question, that was all — to see how well 
you could plead for your cause — and you have not done 
badly. Good-bye; I hope your foot will be better soon.” 

“If I cannot speak to her I can pray for her,” said 
Rhoda to herself after she had gone, “ and God can speak 
Himself, and convince her of her need. I don’t feel as 
if this afternoon has been wasted. It has been different 
kind of sowing, that is all.” 


12 


CHAPTER XVI 


TOM EVANS^ END 

A FEW weeks later, and Rhoda was able to walk with 
very little difficulty. She was not often indoors now ; 
her garden was her great delight, and most of the morning 
she and Jock would be busy there ; in the afternoon she 
would be over the moor, calling on those she knew, or 
trying to make fresh acquaintances amongst the outlying 
cottages and farms. 

One afternoon, on her way home, she was passing some 
of the large boulders of granite that here and there ap- 
peared in the midst of the heather and bracken, when she 
fancied she heard some moans. Tartar began to sniff sus- 
piciously along the ground, and suddenly his sharp bark 
from behind one of the rocks told her he had discovered 
something. In another instant she was standing beside 
the prostrate form of Tom Evans, lying partly underneath 
a heavy piece of stone that had evidently got dislodged 
from the boulder above and rolled down upon him. She 
shuddered at the sight, knowing what injury he must be 
sustaining, and bending down, tried to see if she could 
move him from his dreadful position. And then, though 
partly unconscious, he turned and looked at her. 

Water ! ” he gasped. I’m done for at last 1 ” 

She turned, for she knew a stream was not far off, but 
she had no cup in which to take it, so dipping her hand- 
kerchief in, and soaking it well, she carried it back and 
held it to his mouth. He sucked in the moisture greedily. 

(178) 


Tom Evans’ End 


179 


I will go and get help,” she said gently, for I can- 
not move you.” 

shall be dead before help comes,” he groaned. 

Don't leave me.” Then a clearer look coming in his 
eyes, he said, I know you, and it's Mike Carr has stole 
your boss — the villain ! — to carry him away from justice 
after making a tool of me, and not letting me go halves, 
as we arranged. He'll swing for it yet. Curse him ! ” 

** Hush, hush!” said Rhoda; ‘‘don't spend your 
breath in such words. You may not have much longer to 
live. Listen to some of God's words. ‘ Call upon me 
in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee.' ‘Though 
your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' 
Think over these words, ask God for Christ's sake to 
pardon you. I must leave you to get help.” 

She called Tartar, and made her way as quickly as 
possible to the Tents' farm, which fortunately was not far off. 

And shortly afterward, some strong laborers with a 
hurdle came to the spot. Alas 1 they found that it was a 
lifeless body that was to be their burden. How long he 
had lain there they could not tell, but the only conjecture 
was that he must have dislodged a stone in stumbling along, 
and been crushed under it as it fell. 

Rhoda felt the awfulness of his death intensely, and yet 
could not go home till she had seen his daughters and 
broken the news to them. She asked Mrs. Tent to let 
her have the donkey, which was willingly given to her 
with the request to ride home on it afterward, and then 
she rode as quickly as she could to the Evans' house. One 
of the girls was at the door. 

“ I have brought you bad news,” said Rhoda gently ; 
“ have you not been anxious about your father ? ” 


i8o On the Edge of a Moor 

‘‘ Where is he? ” demanded the girl fiercely. And as 
she spoke her sister put her head out, and behind her 
peered the brother, a young man with a far franker 
countenance than his father’s. 

'' He has been taken to the Tents’ farm. He was dis- 
covered lying out on the moor, crushed by a stone in 
falling.” 

‘‘ Is he dead ? ” 

The question was indifferently put. Rhoda paused for 
a moment, then said solemnly, Yes, he died before help 
could be obtained.” 

‘‘ Good luck to us ! ” was the exclamation from the son 
in the background, and Rhoda was shocked and disgusted 
by the callousness of it. 

** Will you not go to the farm? ” she asked, addressing 
herself to him. 

^‘Suspose I must,” he muttered, and he stepped out of 
the doorway as he spoke — a great, tall, broad-shouldered 
young fellow. Coming up to Rhoda, he said, see I’ve 
shocked you, miss, but if you knew our past you would not 
wonder. For these last five years I’ve bin tryin’ to earn 
a honest livin’ ; I’ve got taken on the railway here, and 
it’s as much as I’ve bin able to hold it, since we’ve bin put 
under a ban ! Seems to me most folk’ll lend a shoulder 
to push a chap down, if they can, and it’s precious hard 
to hold up against them ! ” 

With that he strode off, and Rhoda was just about to 
speak to the girls, when they suddenly darted in and 
banged the door after them, and turning round, to her 
surprise she met Mr. Rokeby’s grave gaze. He had 
ridden up quietly, and she had not noticed his approach. 

You are not alone?” he questioned gravely; and 


Tom Evans’ End 


i8i 


Rhoda, with a quick resentment of his tone, replied 
coldly, — 

Yes, I am, and I am going home immediately.” 

He bowed stiffly, and moved aside to allow her to pass 
on, only Rhoda, ashamed of her momentary pique, said, 

I suppose I must offer an explanation as I have broken 
my word to you, but poor Tom Evans is dead, and I came 
to tell his daughters so.” 

^‘Dead! You don’t mean it! That will settle the 
business I have come over about.” 

Rhoda gave him the facts of the case. He listened, 
and was shocked at the circumstances in which the man 
had died, then remarked, ** In one way it is a great relief 
to my mind, as this will enable me to get rid of them 
before I go abroad.” 

Why? Will you not give the young fellow a chance, 
if he is desirous of keeping on the cottage ? He is employed 
in honest work, and it may mean ruin to him if you turn 
him adrift.” 

thought you were longing for me to turn out the 
whole family, neck and crop?” 

Not now that the father has been removed.” 

They will only be pests to the neighborhood, I expect.” 

** I think not. I have hopes of reaching the girls now.” 
will see,” Mr. Rokeby said, looking at her medita- 
tively ; of course, I must have an understanding with this 
son first. I expect to leave this part next week, but I am 
sure my present agent will prove perfectly capable of look- 
ing after things while I am away, and if you have any pet 
project in your head for the benefit of any of my tenants, 
he will forward such to me, and I will try and meet with 
your wishes as much as possible.” 


i 82 


On the Edge of a Moor 


This speech jarred on Rhoda. She made no reply, 
must go over to the Tents’ directly,” he continued. 
Then, looking at her earnestly, he added, — 

‘‘I think this may be our last meeting, Miss Carlton. 
I may be two or three years abroad, and will most likely 
find you flown by the time I return.” 

do not think that is likely,” said Rhoda, meeting 
his gaze frankly as she spoke. I hope Miss Rokeby may 
benefit by the change. Please give her my best wishes for 
her journey. Good-bye.” 

Only a hand-shake, but Rhoda felt the grip for long 
after ; and as she rode slowly away, Mr. Rokeby stood 
silently watching her out of sight, then with a little sigh 
he went up to the cottage to say a few words to the girls 
before he went on to the Tents’. 

As Rhoda returned home, the remembrance of the awful 
death of Evans weighed heavily on her spirits, and not 
even the hopes of gaining an entrance to the cottage could 
lift the depression that seemed to creep over her. 

Hannah listened to all she had to tell her with her usual 
grave interest. 

It’s been almost too much for you, mum,” she said ; 
will bring you a cup of tea at once, you look worn 
out.” 

‘*See that Jock looks after the donkey well,” said 
Rhoda, sinking into a chair ; Mrs. Tent said the boys 
would call for it on their way to school to-morrow.” 

Then for a few moments after Hannah had left her, she 
gazed dreamily out of the open window in front of her. 

** I am glad he is going,” she said, half to herself. 
shall have no fear of meeting him too often now, and shall 
be able to give up my whole thoughts and time to the 


Tom Evans’ End 


183 


work here. I must try to be content to sow the seed 
broadcast, and wait patiently God’s time for it to spring 
up and bear fruit. This spring has shown me one tender 
sprout springing up, and I shall pray and hope for others. 
Does Mr. Rokeby imagine I shall tire of my life here? 
Yes, I am very glad I have said good-bye to him, very 
glad ! ” 

Yet a sigh that was like the echo of the one breathed 
by Mr. Rokeby a short time before, followed her emphatic 
words. 

Jess was a great joy and comfort to Rhoda. Every 
Saturday she came over for a little private Bible Reading, 
and her Bible was becoming more and more precious to 
her, whilst her religion was shaping and altering her life, 
so that all who knew her marvelled at the change. The 
following Sunday, when Rhoda went over to the Tents’, 
she saw to her surprise and delight young Evans. Jim 
Tent had given him a warm invitation to come when he 
attended his father's funeral with him, and though the 
young fellow occupied a back seat, and looked ill at ease, 
when Rhoda began to speak upon the story of the good 
Samaritan, his eyes never left her face, and he listened 
with eager attention. She had a word or two with him 
afterwards, and expressed her hope that he would be able 
to continue to support himself and his sisters in the neigh- 
borhood. 

‘‘I’m a-going to try,” he said with quiet determina- 
tion, “and ye’ll have no fear of being turned out if ye 
comes to speak with the girls.” 

This sounded promising, and Rhoda thanked God for 
the opening. 

“ You had one in the audience that maybe you didn’t 


184 On the Edge of a Moor 

see, mum,^' said Hannah, when walking home with her 
young mistress. 

‘'Who?*' 

**Mr. Rokeby. He slipped in late behind you, and 
took a seat at the door. He was gone directly the closing 
prayer was over." 

am glad I did not see him," said Rhoda, after a 
minute's silence; but there will be no chance of that 
being repeated. This is his last Sunday in England for a 
long time to come." 

‘‘He got the message anyhow," said the old servant, 
“and he looks like a gentleman that may be seeking the 
truth, I always fancy." 

Rhoda made no reply. Her life was very quiet and un- 
eventful for some time after this. Several times she had 
tried to reach the Evans’, but the girls were always out. 
She had suspicions that they locked themselves in upon 
seeing her approach, but of this she could never be sure. 
Ned Evans, their brother, did not appear again at the 
Sunday service for a long time, and then every now and 
then he would slip in, and take himself off without a word 
after it was over. The spring slipped by with its keen 
east winds and bright sunshine, and the days lengthened 
out, and the sun began to beat fiercely down. 

Rhoda came in hot and tired one morning from a good 
two hours’ work in her garden. 

“Hannah," she said, sitting down on the low window- 
seat in the kitchen, “ do you know, I am very discouraged 
about my plants. When I look at the wealth of flowers 
that Miss Montague lives amongst, and then consider the 
result in my barren plot of all these months of work, I 
begin to doubt whether this bleak moor-ground will yield 


Tom Evans’ End 


185 


anything that will repay me for all my trouble, and also 
whether I am fitted to be a gardener at all. I dare say it 
is my inexperience at it that has made it such a failure.” 

Hannah smiled. 

A garden takes time, mum ; it doesn’t yield much the 
first year. You have to fight against difficulties that Miss 
Montague knows nothing of — the violent storms of wind 
and rain without any trees or buildings to break its force. 
And of course the ground is poor ; hard and stony it is, 
very; but you’ve been enriching it, and it will bear fruit. 
Seems to me,” went on Hannah, thoughtfully, that every 
begin n in’ takes time to be a success.” 

‘‘You are right,” Rhoda said, looking up with spark- 
ling eyes ; “ and my garden is only another picture of the 
spiritual seed I am trying to sow up here. With the ex- 
ception of Jess, I have seen no signs of its springing up 
and bearing fruit. But I suppose I must go on, and not 
be discouraged.” 

“After many days,” said Hannah, softly; “and some- 
times the slowest work is the surest.” 

“To witness,” put in Rhoda, “those seedlings that 
started up so quickly in the garden a month ago, and 
made me think that I should have a gay bed of flowers in 
no time. The frosts bit them, and the wind beat them 
down, and in a fortnight they were dead. I don’t think 
I wish for crowds to be converted, and a wonderful revival 
blessing, but after eight months’ work, don’t you think 
we ought to see more of these people around us coming 
out boldly on the Lord’s side ? ” 

“ I think the Lord will let you see them when He sees 
fit. Meanwhiles, He may be carrying on His work under- 


1 86 On the Edge of a Moor 

ground. There’s a deal goes on with a seed before it 
shows itself to us.” 

I wish I had your patience and faith, Hannah. What 
should I do without you ? You cheer me on so often. 
Do you think that God cannot give some of His workers 
such success as others, because they are too liable to be 
uplifted? I sometimes think it is so with me. I sup- 
pose, if I had had my way, I should have thought myself 
a wonderful creature, and had my head turned by success. 
Well, I must be content with small things. My garden 
will just supply our needs in the way of vegetables — for 
that I am thankful. I must not expect to compare mine 
with Miss Montague’s. And I have a few flowers coming 
on in it. Then as to our spiritual field ; we have had 
opportunities for sowing ; and, after all, casting in the seed 
is, as you often tell me, perhaps the chief work. If I 
could get at those Evans girls I should be happier. But 
the opening may come yet,” 


CHAPTER XVII 


TWO LITTLE STRANGERS 


Rhoda was a little puzzled a few days after this to re- 
ceive the following letter from her brother Herbert : — 

My dear Tabby> 

I wonder if you could possibly take in two children for a fort- 
night. They are recovering from influenza, and a breath of your 
moor air would set them up in no time. I do not think they will 
give much trouble ; their parents are respectable, but they are genuine 
East End children — girls of eight and ten. We will pay their fare 
and board. I thought you might like the chance of a bit of work. 
You cannot find very much to do up in that deserted spot, and it 
would be a real charity. Send me a wire on receipt of this, for we 
want to get them off” as quickly as possible, and I will send them 
down to you at once. I have a longing to get out into the country 
myself, and later on mean to have a try. Have you made friends 
with your clergyman yet? I sliould like, if possible, for these 
children to attend the Church Sunday School whilst with you. They 
have been most regular in their attendance here. I lunched with 
Edgar the other day at his Club, and he told me about the loss of 
your horse. He was in a great state of mind about you, and vowed 
it was hardly safe for you to be living the life you do. I think my- 
self you should never go out unattended by Hannah. Why don’t 
you ask an elderly friend to stay with you ? I know a very nice 
woman, a widow lately returned from India. She is one of our 
most earnest workers here, and meditates becoming one of our 
deaconesses. Would you like me to suggest to her to come to you 
for a change of air? She has such sound views as regards the 
Church, that I think you would be benefited by her society. I 
should be glad if she showed you how much more workers are 
needed in towns; above all, how important it is for woman’s work to 
be supervised by the clergy. No more for now, as I am going to 
evensong. Your affectionate brother, 

Herbert. 


Hannah, will 
Rhoda, as she sat 


you come here a minute ? called out 
perusing this epistle with a pucker be- 


On the Edge of a Moor 


i88 

tween her brows. Then, as the old servant turned round, 
she said a little impatiently, ‘‘Isn't it tiresome ! This is 
the only one of my letters that I did not read coming 
home, and now I shall have to tramp down in the heat 
again to send a telegram off. But still, I don’t know that 
I could have decided without consulting you first. What 
do you think of this? ” and Rhoda read the first part of 
her brother’s letter. 

Hannah’s face did not give much clue ; it wore the same 
grave, set expression as usual, and she answered, “ It shall 
be just as you please, of course, mum.” 

Then Rhoda laughed. 

“I really believe living in the country is making me 
become fastidious. I shall be as bad as Miss Montague if 
I don’t take care. Honestly, Hannah, I don’t like the 
idea of having two East End children about our snug little 
house. We haven’t room for children ; they will bring 
dirt and wickedness with them, give you a lot of extra 
work, and be a great responsibility. Mr. Herbert thinks 
I have nothing to do ! I have my hands as full as they 
can be. I don’t do half the visiting I ought, and now I 
have only my own legs to carry me I seem to spend most 
of my time on the road. I haven’t been to see Mrs. 
Dyke for a fortnight, and I ought to visit her regularly 
every week. No — candidly — I don’t like the idea, but 
yet I don’t think I ought to refuse them, and after all, poor 
little souls, it may be the making of them. Do you think 
we can manage it, Hannah ? ” 

“ There’s the room next to mine, mum. It hasn’t been 
furnished yet, but there’s a couple of mattresses to spare, 
and we could soon get enough for their wants.” 

“Men are so unpractical,” sighed Rhoda; “Herbert 


Two Little Strangers 189 

never imagines the possibility of my not having room for 
them. His whole letter is so ridiculous, but it is just like 
him ! Well, if you think we had better take them, I 
will go down to Ashampton again, and telegraph to that 
effect.*^ 

^‘Let Jock go, mum; he could take a telegram to the 
station.^’ 

‘‘Ah, the station! That is not quite so far as the 
post office. No, I must do it myself, Hannah. He has 
a lot to do in the garden to-day. Sultana has quite 
spoiled me for walking. Do you think I could pick up a 
moor pony cheap ? I would even condescend to a donkey. 
I think I must find some way of getting about a little 
quicker.’’ 

“I think perhaps the Tents would help you about a 
pony, mum, if you think you could afford it.” 

“ I am not sure that I can. Now I must be off. Shall 
I have to order anything from Ashampton for these chil- 
dren ? ” 

“ I think not, mum; I shall like to try and see what I 
can do first.” 

Rhoda put on her broad-brimmed hat, and, calling 
Tartar, set off briskly for the station. When she arrived 
there she met Miss Montague, who was going for the 
day into Exeter, and having a quarter of an hour to wait 
before her train came in, was delighted to have a chat. 
When she heard Rhoda’s news she raised her hands in 
horror. 

“My dear, I really shall wash my hands of you if you 
are going to inundate our fair, pure country with slum 
children. How can you take them in I I shall be afraid 
to come near you. They will steal all your valuables, and 


190 


On the Edge of a Moor 


lead you a regular dance. You will be building a school 
or home for them up there before long, and our part of 
the moor will become a Hampstead Heath. Can’t you 
find enough to do there without bringing London outcasts 
down ? If you want more work come down to Ashampton, 
There is no regular district visitor, and there is plenty of 
scope for your energies. By-the-by, I have made ac- 
quaintance with old Mrs. Hutton. Have you heard of 
her ? She, like your friend Mr. Rokeby, spends most of 
her time abroad, but she comes here in the summer; she 
is too old to visit people herself, but she met some friends 
of mine abroad, and so wrote and asked me if I would 
come to lunch with her one day. She owns the old ruined 
castle by the river, and I discover that I am one of her 
tenants. She is a charming old lady, and I have regaled 
her with all the gossip of the neighborhood. She is very 
curious to see you, and I have promised to take you to see 
her one day. She is one of the people about here whom 
you have come down amongst to teach how to live, so I 
thought you would be glad of an opportunity of influenc- 
ing her. Will you come down to lunch with me one day 
next week ? ’’ 

** Thank you, I will try, but I must let you know a few 
days later. I hardly can tell yet how much of my time 
may be taken up with these little people.” 

They chatted together a little longer, and then Miss 
Montague’s train came in, and Rhoda began to slowly 
ascend the hill home again. She was tired and warm 
when she got in, and very disinclined after lunch to walk 
over to Mrs. Dyke’s. Hannah tried to dissuade her from 
doing it, but she felt she ought to go, as she did not know 
when she would have a chance again. She was rewarded 




‘^The girl sauntered into the cottage and shut the door.’’ 



Two Little Strangers 193 

when she reached the sick woman by the welcome she re- 
ceived from her. 

‘‘I’ve wearied for the sight of your face, ma’am. You 
do make me feel so much better by your talk, but I’m 
afraid the distance is too far for you to manage often.” 

“ I miss my horse,” Rhoda said, brightly ; “ but I will 
try and not leave you so long again without a visit.” 

She had a nice time with her, and read and prayed with 
her before she left. Coming back, as she was passing the 
Evans’, she saw the two girls in the garden. One of them 
darted in at once and closed the door, but the other stood 
up a little defiantly and responded to Rhoda’s “good 
afternoon.” 

“ Why are you so afraid of me ? ” Rhoda asked, pleas- 
antly. “ I only want to be friends with you.” 

“We’re afraid of no one,” retorted the girl, indig- 
nantly; “least of all of any one in these parts. No one 
seems to have an idea in their heads but how to insult us 
and treat us like dirt beneath their feet ! ” 

“ Have I done that ? ” asked Rhoda, gently. 

“ We can’t make out what you’re after. If it’s about 
your boss, we know nought about him, and it’s no good 
coming to try to worm out of us what never was in us ! ” 

“ I assure you I have no such intention. I was pitying 
you both for living here with so few friends. How do 
you employ yourselves? Are you fond of reading? ” 

“We’re as fond of it as you are of asking questions,” 
was the rude retort, and with a mocking laugh the girl 
sauntered into the cottage, and shut the door behind 
her. 

Rhoda sighed, and continued her walk home, praying 
that even yet an opening might come for work in this 


194 


On the Edge of a Moor 


family. The next afternoon the children arrived. Rhoda 
had received a letter in the morning to say they were 
coming, and she went herself to the station to meet them 
by the five o’clock train. Her heart was filled with pity 
when the two little mites were handed out by a good- 
natured guard. Their white, pinched faces and scared 
eyes made her voice doubly tender as she stooped to give 
them a few words of welcome. 

They were poorly but neatly clothed ; the youngest had 
a pretty, gentle little face, the eldest was evidently a wide- 
awake little Londoner. 

** She’s tired, ’Etty is, the train made her feel sick. Oh 
my ! Look at the ’ills up there, ’Etty ! ’Owever are we 
going to walk right up there ? Mr. Carlton said as ’ow 
we were agoing to live on the top of a ’ill. Is your ’ouse 
far from ’ere, teacher? ” 

** I think, Jock,” said Rhoda, turning to the boy, who 
had come down with the small cart and hired pony in case 
there might be luggage, ‘^that the little girls had better 
drive up, they seem to have only a small bundle each.” 

And this arrangement greatly delighted the children. 

Mother said as ’ow we must bring ’ome a lot o’ prim- 
roses and vi’lets when we came,” the eldest girl con- 
tinued. ** ’Ave you got woods and trees up on your ’ill, 
teacher? ” 

And her little tongue never ceased talking the whole 
way up, every now and then breaking out into exclama- 
tions of delight and surprise at the sights around them. 

Rhoda took them round to the kitchen, and told Han- 
nah to give them a good tea, and put them to bed early. 

They gave less trouble than Rhoda expected, and Bessie, 
the elder of the two, was a handy little thing ; she not 


Two Little Strangers 


195 


only kept herself and her sister in good order, but took 
full charge of their room, and gave Hannah help in the 
housework besides. Rhoda saw that they were out of 
doors a good deal. Hetty was rather timid at first, and 
would not stray very far from the house. 

What a big, empty world it is here ! " she said, as she 
stood one day with Rhoda looking down the valley, and 
the range upon range of hills the other side. 

Don’t you like it? ” asked Rhoda. 

‘‘It frightens me at first, it’s so lonely. I like the 
flowers and the grass, but I think I should like some 
shops up here, it ’ud seem more ’omey ! ” 

And Rhoda shuddered at the thought of Whitechapel 
shops being the child’s ideal of hominess ! 

Every morning she had them in her room for a Bible 
lesson, and, in comparison with the country people round, 
their quickness and shrewdness amazed her. 

‘‘I know all the Bible stories,” said Bessie one day; 
^^I’m rather tired of ’em, teacher. The hinfants are 
taught about them. I shall be a teacher when I get 
bigger, and, oh my ! shan’t I smack ’em well if they don’t 
learn their lessons proper ! ” 

I shan’t read the Bible much except on Sundays when 
I grows up,” said Hetty, thoughtfully. '^Grown-ups don’t 
read it, do they, teacher? It’s mostly at schools it’s taught. 
Our gov’ness at the day school, she don’t believe it, I ’eard 
one of the girls say. We ’as to read a chapter through in 
the mornin’, but we gets through it as quick as we can.” 

Don’t you love Jesus? ” asked Rhoda, with a sinking 
heart ; Do you know what He has done for you ? ” 

^^He died to save us from our sins,” repeated Bessie, 
glibly. 


196 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** And are you saved from yours ? 

The child stared. ^*He died to save the world, 
she said, and I harsk to be forgiven every night/ ^ 

** But are you forgiven? 

hain’t done nothin’ awful wicked,” she said, taken 
aback by this cross-questioning; there was a gal in our 
street, and she got a prize for best lessons in the Sunday 
school too, she could learn that quick and easy — she got 
took up by the perleece for stealing some boots, las’ Fri- 
day week it was, and her father ’e was mad, ’e said ’e’d 
break every bone in her body if she corned ’ome again — 
’e gets drunk most nights, but ’e’d never steal nothin’ ! ” 

And this was the way in which most of Rhoda’s 
teaching would be met. Still she did not despair, and 
meanwhile, saw with satisfaction the thin little cheeks 
filling out, and the pink color making its first appearance 
in them. 

They were a source of great interest to Jock, who 
listened to their grand accounts of London and its ways 
with open mouth and eyes, and Bessie looked upon him 
as poor hidget boy,” so Hetty informed Hannah one 
day. 

They were neither of them good walkers, and on Sun- 
day afternoon Rhoda had to leave Hannah at home to 
take care of them whilst she went to the service alone. 
And so the fortnight soon slipped away. On the last day 
but one of their stay, Rhoda was in great anxiety about 
Bessie ; she had strayed away from her sister, and could 
not be found anywhere. Tea-time came, but there were 
no signs of her, and both Rhoda and Hannah turned out 
to look for her, hoping every minute to see her little figure 
coming toward them. As dusk set in they began to get 


Two Little Strangers 


197 


much alarmed, and then about nine o’clock they saw in 
the distance some one coming along, and this proved to be 
Meg Evans with the child in her arms. 

** She missed her way, and I found her not far from us 
— she’s dead tired, and can’t walk a step.” And Meg’s 
voice, which was wonderfully softened, added curtly, 
'^I’ll carry her as far as your house. She’s no light 
weight.” 

^^I’m dreadful tired,” murmured Bessie, '^and I 
thought as ’ow I should ’a died soon if this young pusson 
hadn’t come along.” 

The young pusson ” made no other remark until she 
set the little girl down in the kitchen ; then Rhoda in- 
sisted that she should come in and have a rest before she 
went back. She took her into her own sitting-room, and 
Meg looked about her almost as curiously as Jess had done 
the first time she was introduced to it. Making her sit 
down, Rhoda asked Hannah to make them some hot 
coffee, for, owing to the anxiety about the child, she her- 
self had had nothing since her afternoon tea. 

I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for bringing 
her back,” Rhoda said; ‘Hhey are going home to-mor- 
row, and I should never have forgiven myself if anything 
had happened to her.” 

She’s uncommon like a little sister of ours,” said 
Meg, gruffly. ** I mothered her till she died of bronchitis 
out in America ; she was just such a smart little ’un ! ” 

Rhoda looked interested. 

Do tell me about her. Was it long ago? ” 

‘^Nigh four years. Mother died when she was born, 
and the child couldn’t stand our rough life, it’s a good 
thing she was taken.” 


On the Edge of a Moor 


198 

Then she added, impulsively, ‘‘Don^t mind our rude- 
ness ; we can’t help it. We’ve always been treated un- 
fair, with every one down upon us; it makes us wild with 
every creature we meet. My sister Vic is off. She’s gone 
to London, to try and get into some circus riding some- 
where. Vic is a wonderful horsewoman — but I’m going 
to stay on with my brother here. Ned has been a good 
brother to us ; he takes after mother, and I don’t mind on 
occasions having a visit from you. It was Vic that was so 
bitter, and she’s gone.” 

*‘I won’t come if you would rather not,” said Rhoda, 
gently, but I often pass your cottage on the way to a sick 
woman I visit, and I should like now and then to come in 
and see you.” 

No more was said ; the girl stayed for a cup of coffee 
and then went, but as Rhoda shook hands with her she 
felt that it was only a question of time to gain her friend- 
ship. 

*^Why, Hannah,” she said, ** it is worth the fort- 
night’s visit of these children to have got hold of that 
poor girl. I never thought she would have come into this 
house so willingly. I feel we owe Bessie a debt of grati- 
tude for her escapade.” 

There were a few tears from the children in parting. 
Hetty clung round Rhoda’s neck and whispered, ‘‘ I will 
try to love Jesus and be good, and will you come to see 
us when you come to London ? ” 

And Bessie asserted positively, We’ll come and see 
you next summer, and stay a month. Oh my ! won’t 
mother scream to see our flowers ! ’ ’ 

And then Rhoda sat down to write to her brother, — 


Two Little Strangers 


199 


Dearest Bertie, 

I hope you will get your chicks safe and sound. They have 
been as good as gold, though of course it has given Hannah a good 
bit more to do; still, they have been very helpful. I hope you will 
not think they have suffered from my teaching. Poor little mites ! 
their heads seem full of Bible truth, but their hearts empty ; is it so 
with all the London children, I wonder ? I could not send them to 
any Sunday school here. Ashampton is too far off, and they are not 
like country children for walking. I have never answered your 
question about your friend coming to see me here. I should not 
like it at present, and I am quite sure she would not. It needs some 
one in thorough sympathy with my work here to stand the solitude 
and isolation of my position. I shall be delighted to see any of you 
boys — that is a very different matter. Howard has promised to 
come down later on, but, truth to tell, I am rather afraid of him ! 
He does think so much of one’s surroundings, and would like to see 
me in the lap of luxury. Of course I am very comfortable, but I 
make my own butter, dig in my own garden, and sometimes carry 
poultry and eggs backward and forward to market. You do not 
seem to understand that the clergy are 7iil about here. Times may 
change, however. If the Rector of Abeythorpe, who has Ashamp- 
ton in his charge, were to be removed, and a more active man put in 
his stead, we might see much more done. He is a very old man, 
and keeps two very lazy curates, and I assure you if I waited to 
work under their supervision, I should have a very easy time of it. 
The reason I came here was that there seemed such an opening for 
quiet, steady work, and I have found it. I don’t think I could ever 
be persuaded to live in a town while there are places like this to be 
found, and from what I hear, I fear there are many of them scat- 
tered over our country. Good-bye. Isn’t the difference in your 
work and mine just this — you seek to bring people to church in 
order to lead them on to God ; I seek to bring them to God and then 
to church ? Your motto is, “ First the Church, then God.” Mine is, 
‘‘ First God, then the Church.” Don’t be angry with me. 

Your loving sister. 

Tabby. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MRS. HUTTON 

** I REALLY think if I were owner of such a place as this 
that it would not make me happier.’^ 

I honestly confess that it would me. Look at this 
magnificent avenue of rhododendrons and chestnuts. 
Can you imagine what they must be in the spring ? And 
yet the place is shut up nearly the whole year round. I 
think Mrs. Hutton only lives here for three or four months 
in the summer. The head gardener here is a friend of 
mine — his name is Jacobs, and I get a lot of cuttings 
from him, while he even condescends to take some of 
mine in exchange. I envy him his hothouses here. 
Sometimes I think of earning my living and going out as 
lady gardener. Don’t you think it would be a good 
idea? I could superintend well I’m sure, and with a good 
staff under me I am confident I should be equal to man- 
aging the largest garden in England. I should have a 
cottage rent free, and live in an atmosphere of warmth 
and flowers.” 

Rhoda and Miss Montague were walking up the avenue 
to pay the promised visit to Mrs. Hutton. It was a beau- 
tiful old house, quite hidden away in its nest of fine old 
trees, and Rhoda was reminded of her old home as she 
stepped inside. 

Mrs. Hutton welcomed them warmly. She was a hand- 
some old lady, with a great deal of character, and as she 
( 200 ) 


Mrs. Hutton 


201 


took Rhoda’s hand in hers she said, looking at her earn- 
estly, ‘‘Are you the young lady on the edge of the 
moor? 

“ I am,’^ replied Rhoda, with a smile. 

Mrs. Hutton shook her head. 

“When I was your age,’^ she said, solemnly, “my 
parents would as soon have thought of sending me across 
the ocean in a balloon as allowing me to plant myself on a 
wild moor, in a house of my own, with only an old serv- 
ant to look after me.” 

“ I have no parents now,” said Rhoda, a little sadly. 

The old lady’s face softened. 

“ Have you no one to look after you ? ” 

“She has seven brothers,” put in Miss Montague; 
“ isn’t she to be pitied ? She does well to get away from 
them.” 

“Ah, you are a nineteenth-century young woman, with 
a will and a purpose of your own, I am afraid.” 

“ I am afraid I am,” said Rhoda, smiling. “ I am 
sorry you do not like the idea of my living on the moor, 
but I came there to be quiet, and I am not doing any one 
any harm.” 

“Now just tell me what you are doing;” and Mrs. 
Hutton leaned back in her chair and prepared herself to 
listen. 

Rhoda told her, sketching some of her neighbors’ lives 
with a tender hand, and bringing before the old lady the 
isolation and deadness of their surroundings, and their 
quick response to friendliness, and touching gratitude for 
any kindness shown them. 

Tears were in Mrs. Hutton’s eyes as she heard about 
Robin and his wife. 


202 


On the Edge of a Moor 


** Go on, my dear, go on. It is as good as a story.'* 

When Rhoda paused, she was asked, — 

‘‘And how do you get about to all these small farms 
since you have lost your horse? " 

“I walk.” 

“ But you do not go wandering over the moor all those 
distances by yourself?” 

“ I take my dog with me.” 

“ And do you visit in Ashampton as well ? ” 

“ Not much. I cannot find time. I am friends with 
Miss Frith at the post office, and I know an old washer- 
woman, and the mother of the lad who works for me.” 

“And she comes to see me,” put in Miss Montague; 
“ I’m afraid she thinks me a hard case, but she has tackled 
me once or twice, and she hits out straight when she is 
about it.” 

“About what does she tackle you?” asked Mrs. Hut- 
ton, an amused sparkle coming into her eyes. 

“ She thinks me frivolous, sinful — not fulfilling the ends 
for which I was created. She wants to set me visiting the 
poor, and I shall not and will not do it.” 

“Now,” protested Rhoda, “you must speak fairly. 
Miss Montague. I don’t think such a thing has ever been 
in my mind, much less on my lips.” 

“ Well, you rub me up, and make me uncomfortable, 
until I feel I ought to do it, which comes to the same 
thing.” 

“Will you put me down on your visiting list, and come 
and see me sometimes?” said Mrs. Hutton, turning to 
Rhoda with a smile; “ I am rather an invalid, and it 
would be a real charity.” 

Rhoda promised she would, and then another visitor 


Mrs. Hutton 


203 


was ushered in, no other than the curate who generally 
came over on Sundays to preach. Mrs. Hutton would 
not allow them to leave before tea, so they stayed. 
Rhoda was rather amused at the curate’s blank look of 
dismay as he saw Miss Montague, but she was perfectly 
self-possessed. 

** You will not refuse to shake hands with me, will you ? ” 
she said, a little mocking gleam in her bright eyes as she 
spoke ; then, as the poor man colored furiously, offered 
his hand, and murmured something that was indistin- 
guishable, she turned to Mrs. Hutton and explained with 
great serenity, — 

‘‘Mr. Long and I had some words one day when he 
came to see me. My unfortunate tongue said what per- 
haps had been better left unsaid — circumstances had pro- 
voked it. He generally cuts me dead if I ever meet him 
out of doors, but I do not bear malice. As long as he 
does not favor me with one of his pastoral visits again I 
am quite willing to be friends.” 

“How is the Rector?” asked Mrs. Hutton, changing 
the subject with dexterity. 

“ Very poorly ; he is laid up with bronchitis again.” 

“It is very unfortunate, as it throws so much of the 
parish work upon you two young men. Can you tell 
me in what parish the farms along the side of the moor 
are?” 

“ They belong to Ashampton.” 

“ And do you never visit over there? ” 

Her tone was inquisitorial, and Rhoda began to feel a 
little uncomfortable. 

Mr. Long hesitated. 

“Yes, some time ago, when first I came here, I used to 


204 


On the Edge of a Moor 


go up now and then ; but the fact is, Mrs. Hutton, it is as 
much as we can manage down here.’^ 

‘‘ Do you know Miss Carlton ? I think she comes down 
to your church every Sunday morning.*’ 

Mr. Long bowed. 

‘Mt is only lately that I have discovered where you 
live,” he said, turning to Rhoda ; hope to have the 
pleasure of paying you a visit before long.” 

‘‘What days have you for visiting the poor in Ashamp- 
ton?” continued Mrs. Hutton. 

*<l — I — well, sometimes I come in on a Saturday. It 
is generally the end of the week before I can manage it.” 

Here tea was brought in, and for the time Mrs. Hutton’s 
questions ceased. Rhoda and Miss Montague left when 
it was over, and Mrs. Hutton said, looking at the former 
with kindly eyes, — 

“You will come and see me again, will you not? ” 

“I shall be delighted,” was Rhoda’s reply, and she 
really meant it. “I like the old lady so much,” she said 
to Miss Montague, as they walked away; “I am quite 
grateful to you for taking me to see her.” 

“But she is a bit of a tyrant, I warn you. I am chuck- 
ling at the thought of Mr. Long now. I hope she will 
put him through his catechism. You know the livings of 
Abeythorpe and Ashampton are in her gift, and the curates 
are in mortal fear of her.” 

I would rather be your friend than enemy,” Rhoda 
observed irrelevantly; “ Why are you so hard upon that 
young man ? ” 

Miss Montague laughed. “I can’t help it. It is my 
evil nature, I suppose. I hate, I abominate humbug — you 
know I do — and he is the essence of it. He came to seq 


Mrs. Hutton 


205 


me, and in the course of conversation asked me if I would 
not undertake a little district visiting in Ashampton. 
Now if he had stopped there I should have thanked him 
and politely declined, but when he went on to say, in his 
most sanctimonious voice, ‘ I assure you. Miss Montague, 
we hard-worked curates have very few friends to lighten 
our load, and however much we may esteem it a Christian 
privilege to visit the sick and afflicted, we cannot over- 
take our work in these two parishes. ‘^The spirit is will- 
ing, but the flesh is weak,” and we cannot be in two places 
at once,^ then my wrath rose. ‘ Mr. Long,^ I said, ‘your 
heavy loads and Christian privileges, and willing spirits, 
go to the wind when tennis or a garden-party is concerned. 
I am neither deaf nor blind, and if you expect me to re- 
lieve you of your daily duties, whilst you dance off to this 
entertainment or the other, you have come to the wrong 
person. I like my comfort and ease as much as you do, 
but I am honest and say so.’ — And he got up and walked 
straight out of my house without a word. I have never 
met him since to speak to, till to-day. I know you are 
shocked. I never can control my tongue — it is always 
bringing me into trouble. How will you like a visit from 
him?” 

Rhoda did not answer ; she was hoping in her heart 
that Mrs. Hutton, in her zeal, would not urge Mr. Long 
to visit their part much, as she felt convinced he would be 
no real spiritual help to those around, and then she longed 
for some true-hearted, earnest clergyman to come to 
Ashampton and live there. “ In that case,” she thought, 
“ I should not be wanted and would move farther on.” 

About a week after this, Rhoda was surprised, one 
morning, by a small governess car and moor pony being 


206 


On the Edge of a Moor 


driven up to her door by a groom in livery, who delivered 
the following note ; — 

Dear Miss Carlton, 

When I was a girl I used to drive a good bit about the 
moor in a little concern like the one I send you. I want you to ac- 
cept it as a gift from an old lady, and not allow any feelings of pride 
to prevent her from having the pleasure of giving. The pony is 
steady and sure, and you will be able to ride him if you prefer it. 1 
shall feel more comfortable about you if I know you have a quicker 
and safer mode of getting about than you have at present. 

Yours very sincerely, 

Selina Hutton. 

What could Rhoda do but accept with gratitude such a 
present? She felt the kindness that prompted it, and 
knew how much she would hurt by refusing. 

Oh, Hannah,’’ she exclaimed, after writing a grateful 
little note and dispatching the groom with it, ^Ms not this 
just the thing I have been longing for? Come and look at 
it. Is it not a dainty little turn-out ? Now do you know 
the first thing I am going to do with it ? I am going over 
to the old Days’, and I shall bring them back to tea with 
me. How they will enjoy it — poor old things ! And I 
shall try if, by putting plenty of cushions in it, I could not 
get Mrs. Dyke out for a short drive one day. I shall be 
able to take so many little comforts to the people, that I 
could not riding. It is really very good of Mrs. Hutton, 
considering I am such a stranger to her, and I will not be 
proud, but be thankful for her friendship and sympathy.” 

Mrs. Hutton had indeed taken a great fancy to Rhoda, 
and the latter found that if she did not visit her every 
week or ten days it was almost a grievance. 

‘‘Tell me all you’re doing, my dear, and don’t be 
afraid. I never chatter as our mutual friend does, and I 
like to hear all, good, bad, and indifferent,’* 


Mrs. Hutton 


207 


This was how she was always welcomed, and when she 
went away, it was always — 

^^And now don’t you want any help ? Have you no 
one you want to relieve ; or sick — to whom you would like 
to take any dainties ? Here is my purse ; let me, as I 
cannot work, help you by my means.” 

But Rhoda would always refuse this offer. 

have no very poor about me. They are more in 
need of spiritual food than temporal. I will let you know 
if any deserving ones come to my notice, to whom relief 
would be acceptable.” 

With her little pony and trap Rhoda was able to ac- 
complish a good deal. She persuaded Miss Frith to come 
up one day and see the Tents, and as she was a bad 
walker the trap made this quite practicable. 

I wish you would not shut yourself away from people 
so,” Rhoda had said to her more than once; I shall 
never be satisfied till you get some one to live with you 
who would be able to relieve you, and so let you have a 
little time for seeing your neighbors.” 

I don’t like my neighbors,” said Miss Frith, grimly. 

But you don’t want to live your life entirely alone.” 

People don’t take to me, nor I to them.” 

Because you will not let them know you. Look what 
a struggle I have had to get you to speak to me, and even 
now I am a little frightened when you hand me my letters 
with that stern, set look about your face.” 

Miss Frith smiled. 

‘‘I never ought to look stern at you. I can’t forget 
your nursing when I was ill. I am not ungrateful, only 
I am a sad, grave woman, and 1 can’t chatter gossip like 
most about me, I feel too old for it.” 


2o8 On the Edge of a Moor 

shall make you young before I have done with 

you.’' 

But Miss Frith shook her head, then she said abruptly, 

I sometimes wonder, now my sister has been taken from 
me, whether I couldn’t do something for others, but 
where to begin I don’t know ! I cannot visit — no one 
would welcome a visitor such as me — you want to carry 
sunshine with you to make visiting a success, and I never 
could do that. My life has always been full in the way 
of having some one to look after, and now I feel it such 
a blank. I am thinking of taking a lodger. Maybe if 
I got an invalid, I could see to her, and the shop as well. 
I can’t do work outside, I haven’t the time for it.” 

‘*Oh, you must not look out for an invalid. It must 
be a young girl whom you could mother a little, and in- 
fluence for good, and who would be able to help you in 
some ways. I wish I knew of a London dressmaker, or 
someone wanting country air for a change. I will bear it 
in mind.” 

Rhoda accomplished her plan of having the old Days 
over to spend an afternoon with her very successfully. 
They were delighted, and some of their remarks about 
her room and house were very comical. 

‘‘ Es fay ! Her be a winderful book lamer ! ” observed 
the old man, standing up and surveying the well-filled 
bookcase with awe and curiosity ; then turning to Rhoda, 
he said, ‘‘Do ’ee know the inzides of all they vol- 
lumes ? ” 

“ I think I have read most of them,” said Rhoda, 
laughing. 

He shook his head solemnly from side to side. 

“A’ baint struck at her praychin’ Poll — her hath a 


Mrs. Hutton 


209 


meenister’s book-shelf, but there is too many for one head 
to carry, her will coom to the churchyard early ! 

‘‘’Tis too many for she,'^ echoed Poll, ‘‘an’ a’ mind 
me o’ me dear departed Ned — he were powerful vond o’ they 
books — they did disease his mind, an’ he tooked no vood 
to strengthen hisself up agen them. They be worritin’ 
sort o’ things to lay hold on a young pusson, an’ I’m 
thi likin’, me dear, that ’tis better if you leaveth they 
alone, an’ keepeth to the Bible an’ the newspapers.” 

“ Be ’ee a lady o’ property ? ” asked old Robin, a little 
later on, as his eyes roved round the room. “There 
zeemeth to be a winderful lot o’ curioosities ! A’ be 
thinkin’ ’ee knoweth how to be coomfortable, but do ’ee 
tell on us now, when ee hath no vizitors, who zitteth on all 
these cheers an’ cooshions ! ” 

“ I use them all myself,” said Rhoda, briskly. “ When 
I have a headache, I lie down on that sofa. When I have 
a backache I sit in that big easy-chair ; when I write I 
sit up on that tall, straight one, and when I want to read, 
I use that low, broad one.” 

“Ay, to think on’t ! ” ejaculated Robin, with open 
mouth, “ an’ one cheer be all a’ need till a’ coom to me 
lazt restin’ -place. The quality be ztrangely queer in their 
habits, they be ! ” 

The poor old couple were like children over their tea, 
and when she drove them back and left them at their own 
door. Poll said, with a curtsy, “ Robin an’ me thank you 
greatly, me dear. Your hoose be very tidy an’ conform- 
able — but ’tis one thing that be wantin’ — sadly wantin’.” 

“ And what is that ? ” 

“ A husband, me dear. A’ve had four on ’em, an’ 
a’ knoweth well what they be. A young maid like you 

14 


210 


On the Edge of a Moor 


moost get a man. If a’ were to be left a lone widder 
an* Robin did vollow me departed ones, a* should be 
in a evil plight, but a* should *a enjoyed on havin* on 
*em fur a time. Get a husband, me dear, an* he* 11 be 
company for *ee. An* if so be he turneth out badly, the 
Lord may take *un off, an* then 'ee can try another ! ** 


CHAPTER XIX 


Howard's arrival 

Now, Howard, give me your opinion of my quarters.” 

Rhoda was standing triumphantly before her brother as 
she spoke, and he was seated in one of the big easy-chairs 
in her sitting-room. He had come to stay with her for 
ten days. She had met him at the station, and walked 
up the hill with him in the cool of a lovely evening in 
July. She had shown him round her small domain ; 
every plant — vegetable and flower — in the garden had 
been duly admired ; the horse and cow, the pigs, the 
poultry were all inspected ; and then, after a comfortable 
little dinner, she awaited his verdict. 

He glanced up at her, as she stood in front of him, 
clad in a simple black lace gown, with a bunch of wild 
roses fastened in her belt. Her soft, white skin, if a 
little sunburnt by the constant exposure to the moor air, 
did not seem to have suffered much ; her brown eyes 
were sparkling with light and gladness, and in her face 
was an increased softness and sweetness that struck him 
very forcibly after the jaded, discontented countenances 
he had become so accustomed to see in London society. 

‘Ht seems to suit you,” he said slowly. 

don't want your opinion of myself, but of my 
quarters. I am happy, as I knew I should be. Of course 
I have my ups and downs, but I would not exchange my 
present life for any other that you could offer to me. Are 

(2II) 


212 


On the Edge of a Moor 


you tired ? No ? Then come and watch the sunset from 
the garden gate/* 

Howard followed her out, and drew a deep breath of 
the pure, sweet air, as he stood looking down over the 
river and the valley to the range of hills on the other side. 

It was a soft, still evening ; the cornfields in the dis- 
tance and the wooded slopes were being touched up by a 
succession of lights and shadows that were most fascinat- 
ing to watch. For miles the horizon stretched away in 
one dazzling line of gold. Soft, rosy clouds passed 
swiftly by, the gold mingled with dark crimson waves, 
and then like a ball of fire the sun began to sink behind 
the purple line of hills. They stood silent for some 
minutes, watching the beautiful panorama before them, 
and then Rhoda said softly, — 

Can any understand the spreadings of the clouds? 
Behold, He spreadeth His light upon it.** 

Howard drew another long breath, and when the after- 
glow had subsided, he turned to his sister. 

‘‘You have me at a disadvantage. How can I com- 
plain of your quarters in such a country as this ? I tell 
you frankly, I am sickened of town life. I was never 
made for it. I hate the noise, the rush, the struggle for 
life, the selfish pushing to the wall of all the weak in the 
race. I hate the streets, the gas, the mud and soots, the 
misery and sin one sees on all sides. And above all, 1 
detest the desk-work to which I am confined day by day. 
I would gladly throw it up for such a life as yours, but it 
is impossible. Sometimes I have had thoughts of joining 
Rodney for a few years ; I am thoroughly disgusted and 
down-hearted. Now, preach me one of your sermons, 
Tabby, to brace me up.** 


Howard’s Arrival 


213 


am sorry,” Rhoda said sympathetically; I 

shall not preach to you to-night. You look worn out. 
Why, Howard, your forehead is getting lined with 
wrinkles ! You will grow old before your time.” 

^^Ten years,” continued Howard moodily, ought 
not to seem long to a man my age, but this last year seems 
like ten to me ! I have had an invitation to go down to 
the Manor, but I hardly dare trust myself to do so. I 
don’t believe any of you care for it as I do; I love every 
stick and stone in the place. Well, I will talk no more 
about my own affairs ; tell me of yours. Are there any 
people here fit for you to associate with ? Who is this 
Mrs. Hutton that has given you the pony? ” 

*'She is a dear old lady, who tries to mother me. I 
have promised to take you to dine with her one day soon. 
She wants us to go next Friday. Will you do it? ” 

I do not mind. This air is too cold for you in that 
thin dress, let us go in. Will you allow me to enjoy a 
cigar, whilst you sing me something?” 

And as he sank again into the easy-chair, and the sooth- 
ing fumes of the fragrant weed dispelled for the time his 
discontent, he muttered to himself, ‘^She was right, and 
we were wrong, she could not have done better.” 

Yet after the first favorable impression had passed by, 
Howard began to criticize his sister’s ways and habits 
rather severely. And he startled her by saying suddenly 
one afternoon as they were out walking, — 

AVho is this Mr. Rokeby that Hannah has been speak- 
ing to me about? ” 

He is my landlord. What has Hannah been saying ? ” 
Rhoda’s voice was very quiet, with a touch of dignity 
in it that made her brother pause to choose his words. 


214 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Has he been over here much ? Have you had much 
to do with him ? 

*‘Very little. We have corresponded about various 
matters, and circumstances have thrown us together occa- 
sionally.*' 

He is abroad now ? ** 

‘^Yes.** 

think you ought to have a companion here — an 
elderly lady.** 

Rhoda laughed. 

What elderly lady would consent to be placed in a 
cottage on the top of a moor to encounter all the bluster- 
ing gales, and keen east winds, with no society but Han- 
nah’s and mine for most of the year? ’* 

** There are many who might be thankful for the home. 
It need not be a very old lady — a widow with limited 
means.** 

I don’t like widows.” 

We have been talking it over in town ; and since that 
escapade of yours with your horse, we are doubly anxious 
about it. In fact. Uncle Harvey is consulting several lady 
friends of his, and if we hear of any one suitable, we will 
let you know.” 

Thank you,” said Rhoda, swallowing her feelings of 
annoyance as well as she could; ‘‘but at present I have 
no intention of having a companion. Hannah is quite 
sufficient for all my needs.” 

Howard’s brows were knitted. 

“Cannot you see, yourself,” he said, “that a girl of 
your age ought not to be receiving visitors in this out of 
the way place without a chaperone? I wonder what that 
fellow thinks we are made of, to leave you so unprotected ! ” 


Howard's Arrival 


215 


'Hf you mean by 'that fellow’ Mr. Rokeby,” Rhoda 
said calmly, though her cheeks flushed a little, "he has 
only been inside my door three times. Once he was 
driven in by storm, once he called with his sister, and 
once he helped me to interview a policeman. He is now 
abroad for two or three years.” 

"Thank goodness for that ! ” was the muttered retort. 

Rhoda went on very quietly, " If 1 thought there was 
real cause for me to have a companion, I would do so. 
But I do not. Away up here, amongst the simple country 
people, there is not the slightest necessity for it. I mean 
to have a friend or two to stay with me occasionally, but 
I have really only just got my spare room properly fur- 
nished. Now, don’t look so gloomy, my dear boy. I will 
do nothing here that could offend the most strait-laced ac- 
quaintance we have. Ask Mrs. Hutton what she thinks. 
She is a thorough woman of the world, and she does not 
think my position here peculiar or improper.” 

The subject was changed, and Howard said no more. 
He dined at Mrs. Hutton’s with his sister, where they met 
Miss Montague and a Major Hutton, a nephew of the old 
lady’s, who was her heir and was paying her a visit for a 
few days. 

If Miss Montague did not like men, she certainly con- 
cealed her feelings very well, for she attracted and amused 
both the gentlemen, and Howard remarked, as he drove 
his sister home in her little car, — 

" I am glad there are a few decent people for you to 
speak to. That Miss Montague is a taking little woman, 
not the sort to be living out in the wilds here.” 

"I like her so much,” said Rhoda warmly ; "she is 
true, and thoroughly kind. She lives in a cottage not 


2i6 


On the Edge of a Moor 


much bigger than mine. I am not at all original in my 
style of living. I believe many ladies do.” 

Rhoda was a little perplexed, when Sunday came round, 
as to what she should do with Howard, but he calmly in- 
formed her that he had arranged to take a walk with 
Major Hutton. 

knew you went in for preaching somewhere, so 
thought 1 would make myself scarce.” 

“I wish you cared for these things,” said Rhoda, with 
a little sigh. 

Perhaps I care more than you imagine,” Howard re- 
joined gravely ; I do believe in and respect religion. I 
am no sceptic, though I have gone through that phase as 
most men do, I suppose. I go to church, and do the best 
I can with life as I find it, but I cannot understand your 
passion for stirring up people to say they are ‘converted.’ 
Let them believe in God and do their duty, that is all 
that is required of us.” 

“That is all,” said Rhoda, earnestly; “but have you 
ever thought over our duty toward God and our duty to- 
ward our neighbor ? You talk of doing one’s duty. Who 
does it ? I mean according to the lines laid down for us 
in the Bible. And when you mention my stirring up 
people — oh, I wish I could ; I wish I could ! They are 
all so apothetic, so lifeless, so sleepy, so little idea of their 
position in the sight of God, so little desire for heavenly 
things ! ” 

“ They are very contented as they are.” 

“ But, Howard, they are utterly unprepared for the next 
life. If I did not believe in a future world, I would let 
them alone ; but I do, and you do too, and can we stand 
by calmly, and see these poor lifeless souls go down to 


Howard’s Arrival 


217 


destruction without holding out a helping hand ? Would 
you watch a blind man walk over a precipice without giv- 
ing him a word of warning ? We say we believe all that 
the Bible tells us, but we don’t act it out. We are not in 
dead earnest as we should be.” 

‘‘You ought to have been a man, and then you could 
have gone into the Church,” Howard remarked, with a 
smile. 

This was how a discussion generally ended with her 
brothers ; they would listen to her perfectly unmoved and 
would smile at her enthusiasm. Yet her words sank 
deeper than she knew; and perhaps in Eternity itself, 
Rhoda would realize that not a prayer for them, not a 
word said to them, had been in vain. Many a soul finds 
its way into the Kingdom by very small links of the chain 
of God’s Almighty love. 

“Line upon line, here a little, and there a little; ” it 
may be given them through a “stammering tongue,” but 
if it is a message from God, it will bring power and bless- 
ing in its train. Howard’s fortnight soon passed. He 
went on to stay with his cousin at the Manor for a short 
time before returning to town, but he felt a different man 
when he left the moor. 

“I don’t know if the air or your wise talk has been a 
tonic to me,” he said to his sister, as they were walking 
down to the station together the last day; “but lam 
ashamed of my grumbles about my life in town. Our 
motto has always been ‘straight ahead.’ I have failed to 
remember it. Perhaps my depression was most of it phys- 
ical. I must give you your due. Tabby, you do brace one 
up. Do you never feel down yourself, I wonder? ” 

“ Oh, don’t I ! I wish you could have seen me when I 


2I8 


On the Edge of a Moor 


fractured my ankle and was laid up ! I don’t think you 
could possibly have equalled me, in my despair and 
wretchedness. It is very often physical weakness that 
makes us so depressed. Now, give me a word of com- 
mendation before you go. Don’t you think I have done 
well? ” 

** As far as air and scenery go, you have. Socially you 
have not ; though I am easier in my mind since I have 
had a talk with Mrs. Hutton about you. She has promised 
to look after you like a mother, and I think she will ; and 
if you would have Miss Montague up for a few days some- 
times, I think it would be a good thing.” 

Perhaps I will, if she can tear herself away from her 
flowers. Good-bye, old fellow I Run down to me when- 
ever you get a fit of the blues, and tell the others in town 
that I shall always be glad to see them when they want a 
change of air.” 

And so they parted, and Rhoda came back to her little 
cottage, resolving to throw herself into her work with more 
zest, now that she would be alone again. 

She was slowly making friends with Meg Evans, who 
welcomed her now as often as she liked to go; but noth- 
ing would induce the girl to go to the Tents’ kitchen on 
Sunday. 

Ned goes on occasions, and I won’t be the one to hold 
him back, but I’m not going to be converted by any- 
body. I’ve seen revival meetings in America — they 
shouts, and they tumble down, and drags one another up 
to a wooden form, and screams out that they’re saved, 
and the next day is shouting and drinking inside the pub- 
lic-houses same as ever ! I don’t want any of that bosh ! 
I don’t believe a word of it.” 


Howard’s Arrival 


219 


And all Rhoda’s invitations received the same kind of 
replies. She could only pray for her, and now and then 
drop a word that she trusted would find an entrance into 
her heart. 

Besides her visits to those on the moor, Rhoda was be- 
ginning to know several of the Ashampton villagers, and 
soon found that she had as much visiting as she could well 
get through. She was very seldom repulsed, and nearly 
all were glad to see her bright face and smile when she 
entered their cottages. 

have got a lodger,” was Miss Frith’s announcement 
one morning, as Rhoda was taking her letters from her 
hand. 

Have you ? I am so glad ; who is she ? ” 

‘‘It is a ‘he,’” said Miss Frith, gravely ; “ a poor 
young man dying of consumption. He has one little girl 
of six — such a handy little maid for her age, and no 
trouble whatever. They came yesterday ; some one had 
told him I was on the lookout for a lodger, and I took 
him in the first minute I set eyes on him. He is a watch- 
maker by trade, and has come from Exeter. I doubt if 
he’s very long for this world. His wife died four years 
ago.” 

“ But he will be a great charge.” 

“ I want something to do, and the child does a lot for 
him. She will have to go to school, but she can help 
when she is at home.” 

“ But she is a mere baby.” 

“ A child in her position has never known much baby- 
hood, I take it,” Miss Frith said drily. “ I shall be glad 
if you can come and have a little reading with him some- 
times.” 


220 


On the Edge of a Moor 


Rhoda looked at her steadily for a minute, then smiled. 
** You know my thoughts, Miss Frith ? 

‘‘Ah well, maybe I do, but a fresh face has more at- 
traction and power than one he’ll get pretty well tired of. 
Besides, I never set myself up as a teacher.” 

Rhoda shook her head reprovingly ; “ God has brought 
him to you to be nursed, and to be led into the Fold. I 
am sure of it, and I don’t want to let you miss the joy 
of it. Ah, you will, dear Miss Frith, won’t you? Put 
aside your reserve, and talk to him about the things that 
you love, just as much as I do. Promise me you will.” 

Miss Frith turned aside quickly, and Rhoda saw that 
she was more moved than she cared to show. In a minute 
she said gruffly, “ I will try, and if I fail, you must step 
into my place.” 

Rhoda left her with a thankful heart. Perhaps of all her 
friends Miss Frith occupied the warmest place in her 
heart, and she was delighted to find that she was willing 
to come out of her shell, and do the work that lay so 
close to her hand. 


CHAPTER XX 


A FOILED SCHEME 

I HAVE come up to get a breath of air. Ashampton is 
suffocating, and I am stagnating in the airless atmosphere.^’ 
It was Miss Montague speaking, and she lay back in an 
easy-chair by the open window in Rhoda’s sitting-room. 

Rhoda herself, in a simple holland dress, looked fresh 
and cool, as she took a seat near her friend. 

am so glad to see you,” she said. ‘‘I do indeed 
think I have the best of it this warm weather. What 
have you been doing lately? ” 

‘^I’ve been fighting with old Jacobs over his prize 
carnations. I tell him if I had his opportunities, I would 
beat him hollow ! I have been entertaining Mrs. Hutton 
now and then with the gossip of the neighborhood. She 
likes me to go up to her, for she says I keep her lively, 
but of course you are her favorite. I am too old to be 
jealous, I never was that way inclined ; jealous people make 
themselves miserable, and misery and I keep apart. Why, 
my dear, I do believe if her nephew ever offends her, and 
she cuts him out of her will, you will step into his place ! 
What have you done to bewitch her so ? Tell me, hon- 
estly, how you like the Major.” 

‘‘I have never thought much about him,” said Rhoda 
candidly; have only seen him once or twice. He 
seems a pleasant, genial man.” 

Miss Montague laughed. 


( 221 ) 


222 


On the Edge of a Moor 


**You are such a cool, unimpressionable young lady! 
I should not think any one has ever given you a heart- 
throb yet. Now, don’t frown at me and put on that 
severe air. I am glad enough to meet with a sensible 
woman, who has other ideas in her head but the one most 
women live upon — that of getting a husband ! Only, let 
me offer you a friendly warning. The Major came down 
for three days. He is staying on for nearly a month, and 
you see him at least once, if not twice a week — and Mrs. 
Hutton has her plans, so beware ! ” 

‘‘Did you come up to talk about Major Hutton?” 
asked Rhoda serenely, “ because I do not think he is inter- 
esting. I want to ask you if you will come up and stay 
with me here for a week. The change will do you good. 
Every time I go down to Ashampton I am struck with the 
difference in the air. It is, as you say, quite suffocating 
in this heat. I have a spare room now, and it would be 
such a pleasure to have you.” 

“ I declare I will come ! Many thanks. Stop, though 
— there are my flowers to be considered ; but my man who 
helps me will look after them, and you are so delightfully 
breezy up here that it is a great temptation.” 

“Then let us consider it settled. When can you 
come? ” 

“Not to-morrow, but the day after, I will with the 
greatest pleasure, and you will take me over the moor in 
your little cart, won’t you? I shall look forward to it. 
Now, let me tell you whom I stopped coming to see you 
this afternoon — Mr. Long. I met him toiling up to the 
station, and I brisked up and passed him. ‘ Good after- 
noon,’ I said sweetly; ‘are you going up to the moor? 
I am — to see Miss Carlton.’ ‘ I was thinking of calling 


A Foiled Scheme 


223 


on her myself/ he said, ^but will defer my visit to another 
day/ Has he been to see you yet? ” 

‘^Some weeks ago he called. He seemed rather nerv- 
ous, poor man, and I am glad to be spared another visit 
from him.” 

The Rector is very ill, I hear. If he died, we might 
have a pleasant change. Not that I think it likely — you 
know my opinion of the clergy.” 

‘^Ah, doi/t be so bitter against them,” Rhoda said 
gravely ; I have known so many good, earnest men, that 
I cannot bear to hear them run down. An individual 
does not represent a class, remember ! ” 

‘‘Well, we won’t quarrel over them. I hope I shall 
see a good one before I die. How are old Darby and 
Joan ? And the deep-dyed ruffian who got hold of your 
horse. Have they cleared out yet ? ” 

Rhoda gave her the news of the neighborhood, but 
after Miss Montague had gone that afternoon, she re- 
mained deep in thought, looking out of her window upon 
the wide expanse of moor, and watching the purple-tinted 
hills and the rugged outlines of the Tors in the distance. 
She had not been oblivious to Major Hutton’s marked at- 
tentions, and though never giving him the slightest encour- 
agement, was finding that her constant visits to Mrs. Hutton 
were becoming a great difficulty. The old lady would 
allow no excuses when she tried to make her visits less 
frequent. 

“ I am as much a part of your work as any of your poor 
people on the moor. I will have a weekly visit from you, 
so don’t tell me you are too busy to come.” 

Rhoda was quite willing to go to see her, for she often 
got an opportunity of having interesting talks with her; 


224 


On the Edge of a Moor 


but it was a different matter to have Major Hutton invari- 
ably in the room, and now that Miss Montague had put 
into words, what her own heart felt to be true, she was 
more than ever disinclined to continue her visits. 

The next time she was there. Major Hutton accom- 
panied her down the avenue as she was returning. 

She was making some remark about the beauty of the 
place, when he suddenly turned to her, and said with em- 
phasis, '‘It is a fine old place. Could you be happy to 
make it your honie ? ’ ^ 

"No,’* she said decidedly, looking straight in front of 
her, and trying to speak lightly; "I shouldn’t like it at 
all. Ashampton is so low and relaxing after the moor air, 
I am always glad to get back to my little cottage again, 
though I confess it is a pleasant change to come and see 
Mrs. Hutton, but then I am fond of her.” 

"And if you like a person, the place does not signify? ” 
persisted the Major. 

Rhoda did not answer. 

" My aunt wants me to sell out and come and settle 
down here during her lifetime,” he continued; " there is 
only one thing that would make me do it. As a bachelor 
I could not stand it.” 

"No,” responded Rhoda; "and I should think it would 
be a great pity if you gave up your profession so soon. It 
would be such an idle, useless life in Ashampton. Of 
course, if Mrs. Hutton really wanted you, I would be the 
last to dissuade you ; but she will be going abroad in a 
month or two, and what would you do with yourself all 
the winter ? ” 

" Yet you manage to exist here during the winter.” 

"I have my work,” Rhoda said, a soft light coming 


A Foiled Scheme 


225 


into her eyes; '‘and having found my vocation in life, 
winter or summer makes no difference to me.” 

" Do you mean to say,” he said, with impatience in his 
tone, "that you meditate living in that cottage up there 
for the rest of your life? It is preposterous ! ” 

Rhoda laughed. "It is a good thing every one has 
different tastes,” she said ; " what would be misery to you 
is delight to me. We must be content to go our own way. 
Major Hutton, and not judge one another’s plan of life 
too hardly.” 

They had come to the gate, and Major Hutton stopped 
and leaned against the pillar, gazing wistfully at her. 
Her tone and words had rung a death knell to his hopes. 
Yet making a last desperate effort, he said, as he took her 
hand in his, and forced her to look at him, " I think this 
will be good bye. I shall go back to my regiment the end 
of this week.” 

Rhoda’s clear, unembarrassed gaze met his. She knew 
the pain she was giving, but it was only true kindness to 
him. " Good-bye,” she said brightly ; " I think an active 
life is so much more healthy than one of leisure and ease. 
You will think so yourself, when you get back to your 
work again.” She felt his earnest, intent look, but never 
wavered, and wringing her hand, he sadly retraced his 
steps. 

It was not so much her beauty, perhaps, as her bright, 
winning tone and manner that had so won his heart, and 
Miss Montague was quite right in her supposition, that his 
aunt favored his suit. 

Rhoda sighed as she took her way homewards. 

" I wish they wouldn’t like me,” she said to herself half 
comically, "but I really think there is no chance of my 

15 


226 


On the Edge of a Moor 


coming across any one else here. Mr. Rokeby is the only 
other unmarried man about — and he is safe. Perhaps he 
may bring a wife back with him from abroad.*’ Yet as 
she said this, a certain wistfulness gathered in her eyes, 
and a shadow came across the brightness of her face. 

The next morning she received a note by post from 
Mrs. Hutton: — 


My dear Rhoda, 

I want to see you at once. Please come to me without fail 
to-morrow morning. 


Yours affectionately, 

Caroline Hutton. 


Rhoda read this at the post office, and dashed off a note 
whilst there, sending it by a village boy : — 


My dear Mrs. Hutton, 

I cannot possibly come to you to-day, nor again this week I am 
afraid. Will you not let me know by letter what it is I can do for you ? 

Yours affectionately, 

Rhoda Carlton. 

There,” she said to herself, ‘'she will be very angry, 
but I cannot help it. I will go and see her after Major 
Hutton has left, but not before.” 

And when Rhoda visited Mrs. Hutton the following 
week, she was received with the stately coldness that she 
anticipated. 

“I am sorry you should have wasted your valuable 
time in coming to see an old creature like me,” Mrs. 
Hutton said, with severity. “I can only say, I do not 
wish to detain you for any length of time, as I know how 
irksome it must be to you.” 

Rhoda stooped down and kissed her. 


A Foiled Scheme 


227 


‘'Don’t be angry with me, Mrs. Hutton. I am dread- 
fully sorry for having vexed you so, but I could not act in 
any other way.” 

“ Indeed ! And pray, why not ? ” 

“ I did not wish to come here again till Major Hutton 
had gone. We had said good-bye to each other when I 
was last here.” 

Then Mrs. Hutton faced round, and her cap strings 
shook in her agitation. 

“ You had no business to say good-bye to him ! Why 
should you come here week after week, and steal away his 
heart, only to turn round and flout him in the end ? Yes 
— you need not flash your eyes at me, I am angry with 
you, very angry. I have planned this from the first day I 
saw you, and it is not always that my nephew falls in with 
my wishes so readily as he did in this case. I might have 
looked for a rich bride for him, or a lady of title, but I 
saw in you what I knew would make him happy, and so I 
watched with delight your intercourse with him. Pray, 
what have you to say against him? If he is not good 
enough for you, who is ? How do you expect to get a 
husband, if you are so ultra fastidious? ” 

“Mrs. Hutton,” said Rhoda, with quiet dignity, “I 
will pass over much of what you have said, because I 
know you are very vexed. I think, when you are calmer, 
you will allow that neither by word or sign have I given 
any encouragement to Major Hutton. I am very sorry 
that your plans for him have failed. I did not come to 
this part of the country with any ideas of marriage in 
my head. I want to be free and unfettered in my work. 
I do not wish to say anything in disparagement of your 
nephew. He is no doubt a good and honorable man, but 


228 


On the Edge of a Moor 


his interests in life are not mine, nor mine his, and * how 
can two walk together, except they be agreed ? ’ ’ ^ 

He has a great respect for your work,” put in Mrs. 
Hutton eagerly; ^^and he told me he thought a land- 
owner’s wife ought to take interest in the tenants, and 
benefit them, according to their needs. He would allow 
you to do exactly as you liked in Ashampton.” 

‘‘ That is not my idea of true unity between husband 
and wife. What a wife values, I should think, is being 
able to go to her husband for help and advice, for counsel 
in difficulty, for cooperation in all she undertakes. No, 
Mrs. Hutton, we are not suited to each other, and I mean 
to live my life alone. A single life as a worker in the 
Lord’s vineyard is a much more useful and successful one 
than any other. I am sorry I have pained and disap- 
pointed you, but you must forgive me.” 

‘‘ You are a headstrong, foolish girl, and I have lost all 
interest in you.” 

Rhoda looked a little wistfully into the old face that 
seemed bristling all over with injured feeling and annoy- 
ance, then she said gently, Perhaps I had better not stay 
any longer this morning; I have not lost interest in you, 
Mrs. Hutton. I think you are much nicer” — here a 
twinkle came in her soft brown eyes — than the Major ! 
Let us part friends.” 

‘‘ That we certainly will not; if you can see anything 
in such a subject to joke about ! I consider that you have 
behaved very badly, and do not want to have anything 
further to do with you.” 

Rhoda left her, feeling more sorry for the irascible old 
lady than hurt by her. She was not surprised when she 
received a penitent little note a few days after, and she 


A Foiled Scheme 


229 


was soon reinstated in favor, though it was long before 
Mrs. Hutton could get over her disappointment. Miss 
Montague spent a fortnight with Rhoda, and both enjoyed 
the visit. They went together to the service at the Tents^ 
each Sunday, but Miss Montague would not let Rhoda 
speak to her as she longed to, and fought shy of all serious 
subjects. 

But Rhoda did not give up praying for her. 

‘‘It seems all I can do, Hannah,*^ she said to her old 
servant, in despair. “Oh, if I had my wish, how many 
about here would I like to see brought over the line ! 

“ I think the Lord is quite as anxious for them,** Han- 
nah rejoined, drily, “ only He doesn*t hurry. It is ‘ after 
many days.* ** 

And so the summer passed, and Rhoda looked with 
longing heart over the rich golden fields on the other side 
of the valley as they lay in the blaze of the warm 
autumnal sunshine. She watched the reaping with a sigh, 
and wondered if she would ever see the harvest of her 
sowing day by day. Yet, when she looked around, she 
had a great many mercies to be thankful for. The Sunday 
afternoon service was a regular institution now, and the 
numbers kept up wonderfully. Meg Evans had at last 
begun to attend — not regularly, but as the fit took her — 
and sometimes some would come to it from Ashampton. 
Jess was going on steadily ; Hal Bjown was most earnest 
and enthusiastic; Jock had, after these many months, 
now shown signs of interest in spiritual things, and had 
commenced to read with avidity a large print Testament 
that Rhoda had given him. Miss Frith was ministering 
to her lodger*s need, and one morning met Rhoda with a 
sunshiny face. 


230 


On the Edge of a Moor 


‘‘ I do believe he has got hold of the truth at last/’ she 
said ; ‘‘he told me last night he saw it, and he had never 
seen it before, and he seems so happy — so different to 
when he came. He seemed to have no belief in anything 
then.” 

Rhoda rejoiced with her, and was thankful to see how 
the hard, set face was relaxing into softness and sweet- 
ness, when such subjects were discussed. 

It was about the middle of October, when Mrs. Dyke 
was called home. Rhoda had seen she was failing for 
some time past, and had done all she could to make her 
last days comfortable and happy ones. She was called 
to her late one soft autumnal afternoon. The heather and 
bracken were already losing their glory, but the black- 
berries and scarlet hips and haws were brightening all the 
hedges and bushes, and the mountain ash added to the 
beauty of the small copses down the steep hillside. 

As she entered the sick-room, the last ray of the setting 
sun was touching the dying woman’s pillows. She turned 
her head and smiled at Rhoda’s approach. 

“I’m going to leave you,” she murmured. “I’ll 
thank Him when I see Him, for sending you to teach me 
about Him.” Then after a pause she said, “Will you 
sing to me? ” 

Rhoda knelt by her side, and her sweet, clear voice 
began — 

** How sweet the name of Jesus sounds 
In a believer’s ear ! ” 

When she came to the last verse, to her surprise Mrs. 
Dyke raised herself on her pillow, and in a tremulous voice 
joined in — 


A Foiled Scheme 


231 


“ So shall the music of Thy name 
Refresh my soul in death.” 


As the last note died away, her head sank on her breast, 
and her husband, leaning over, drew her to rest against 
his shoulder, where she peacefully breathed her last. 

As Rhoda drove home in the waning light, her heart 
was uplifted ; she realized as she never had before, what a 
glorious entrance into true life it must be to the sick and 
weary ones on* earth; and as her eyes traveled upward, 
and the last rays of the departing sun met her gaze, she 
murmured to herself — 

« Ever the richest, tenderest glow 
Sets round the autumnal sun ; 

But there sight fails — no heart may know 
The bliss when life is done,” 


CHAPTER XXI 


A CHANGED LIFE 

It was a dull grey afternoon toward the end of October. 
Rhoda was seated in her low window-seat facing the set- 
ting sun, making a small frock for one of Mr. Brown’s 
children, and singing softly to herself as she did so. 
Suddenly a hurried knock was heard at the door, and 
Miss Montague burst in, breathless and excited ; she car- 
ried a small bag in her hand. 

thought I should never get here,” she exclaimed. 
** Can you put me up for a night or two ? Such a dread- 
ful thing has happened ! If I wasn’t strong-minded I 
think I should go into hysterics ; I am quite unstrung, 
and that hill has finished me 1 ” 

Rhoda saw she was as she said, quite unstrung. She 
made her sit down in an easy-chair, and then said quietly 
but firmly, Now don’t talk for a few minutes; just rest 
and be quiet. I will bring you a cup of tea. Hannah is 
having hers in the kitchen now, and I shall not be a mo- 
ment.” 

Miss Montague looked very near tears, but she did as 
she was told, drank a hot cup of tea, and felt better. 

You have no idea what I have gone- through to-day,” 
she continued as soon as she was able to speak. I have 
never had such an experience before in all my life. You 
know my little maid — Nelly White ; she has not been very 
well lately, complaining of a sharp pain in her side. I 
(232) 


A Changed Life 


233 


called in old Dr. Williams, who treated it as indigestion. 
She went to bed last night apparently much better ; this 
morning she did not appear with my hot water. I went 
to her room, and I found ” — here Miss Montague gave a 
little shiver — I found her lying dead in her bed ! 

Rhoda uttered a shocked exclamation. 

^^Yes; I rushed off for the doctor, and telegraphed 
for her parents, who fortunately live only eight miles off. 
I believe it is. heart-disease ; but isn’t it awful ! I simply 
can’t stay in the house. I have made all arrangements, 
but I shall have to attend the inquest to-morrow. I 
thought you would come back with me to it. I came off 
out of the house as quickly as I could, but even now I 
can hardly believe it is true. Why, yesterday at this 
time, she was bringing in my tea, as brightly as possible, 
and now she is lying there stiff and cold ! Oh, death is 
terrible — I can’t stand it ! Suppose I should die like 
that ! I have been haunted all day by the thought ; it is 
nearly making me lose my senses. I thought of you with 
wonderful comfort, and have come to slay till I can get 
this out of my mind. Will you have me ? Ah, you’re 
sorry for me ; I see you are ! I would give worlds to have 
your faith, and to have no fear of death. I am not fit to 
die, Rhoda. I have lived a godless, selfish, worldly life ; 
and I have been miserable for some time past. Do you 
remember I told you not to speak to me about these things 
till I asked you ? Well — I ask you now. I tell you I am 
in abject terror ; we seem so fearfully close to the other 
world. Poor little Nelly ! she was such a good little serv- 
ant. Do you know that she walked up to one of your 
Sunday services with a friend the other week ? She has 
been reading her Bible diligently since. I wonder if she 


234 


On the Edge of a Moor 


had a presentiment she was going to die ! It seems a 
year since this morning. I have left my cat, my flowers, 
everything, and I feel as if I cannot go back. Do com- 
fort me — say something — you seem a tower of strength.’* 

Let us have a little prayer together,” said Rhoda, 
softly ; and without a word the worldly little woman sank 
on her knees, sobbing with fright and distress. 

Very earnestly did Rhoda pray that this sad warning 
might lead her to the Saviour, and that she might yield 
herself up — soul and body — into His keeping, now and 
forever. When they rose from their knees she stooped 
and kissed her. 

You must take this as a message from God,” she said. 

Oh, but it is such a cruel way of sending a message, 
such an awful shock ! I thought I was strong-minded 
enough to endure anything, but I always told you I fight 
shy of the dreadful things in life, — and now for this to 
happen to me, seems so hard ! ” 

‘‘ If Nelly was a child of God, she could not have a 
happier or easier translation to her home above. And, 
dear Miss Montague, perhaps God has found you have not 
heeded His gentle voice calling you, so He has had to 
speak in a louder tone.” 

Miss Montague shivered. 

They talked together for some time longer, but Rhoda 
felt that in her friend’s present unnerved state, it would 
be unwise to urge decision upon her. She could only 
pray that the strong impression made might not wear off. 

And after a night’s rest Miss Montague recovered her 
self-possession, but she was now earnestly desirous of find- 
ing true rest for her soul, and did not shun the help that 
Rhoda was only too anxious to give. It did indeed seem 


A Changed Life 


235 


as if this sad incident had brought the realities of life and 
death before her in a way that she had never seen them 
before, and toward the end of that morning Rhoda had 
the intense joy of witnessing her stepping into the King- 
dom as simply and trustingly as a little child. 

will visit the sick and poor every day of my life, if 
God wishes me to,*' she said, as she turned a tearful yet 
shining face toward Rhoda. That has been the struggle ; 
for a long time I have been fighting against that thought ; 
I felt I could not do it. But I think I could be a hospital 
nurse, or a tract distributor in the slums, to have the as- 
surance that I belong to Him." 

Later on she said, I must go back this afternoon, but 
could you — is it asking you too much — come home with 
me, and stay for a day or two ? I dread being alone there. 
Yes, I cannot get over my nervous feelings, though I know 
it is wrong." 

Rhoda willingly agreed, and the day or two lengthened 
into a fortnight's visit ; she did not leave her till she was 
comfortably settled with a fresh maid, and many and long 
were the spiritual talks they had together. 

Dora Montague was a changed woman. She still had 
a great deal to learn, and her tongue was as voluble as 
ever, though a vein of earnestness had crept into her tone, 
and the sad event in her little household had left a shade 
upon her brow. 

But she was happy ; and the peace in her heart, after 
long years of restlessness, was such a new and blessed ex- 
perience, that she could hardly understand it. 

One of the first things she did was to grip hold of Miss 
Frith's hand across the little shop-counter, and say, to the 
utmost astonishment of that good woman, — 


236 


On the Edge of a Moor 


I am converted, so must shake hands with you. I 
dare say you won’t believe it, but I really am. And it is 
through Miss Carlton. I know you are a real Christian, 
so I shall come in and ask your advice about things, when 
I can’t get hold of her. Do you know of any needy family 
in the village? I am going to take a district. Won’t 
Mr. Long be pleased ? ” 

And she rattled on, leaving Miss Frith trajisfixed with 
amazement, though she did her best to respond, with as 
much warmth as she ever showed to any one. 

Mrs. Hutton was just making preparations for going 
abroad again, but Miss Montague managed to tell her of 
the change in her life. 

‘'You are so vehement,” Mrs. Hutton said calmly; 
" you talk of being converted as if you were a heathen or 
a drunkard. I do not hear Rhoda Carlton speak as you 
do. She takes things so much more quietly.” 

" Because she is so accustomed to them,” retorted Miss 
Montague. " My dear Mrs. Hutton, I feel as if I am only 
just beginning life ; I never would have imagined it would 
make so much difference to one. Excuse my asking you, 
but have you ever gone through my experience ? ” 

"Never, and I hope I never shall, if it produces such 
excitement.” 

" Now that is too bad. You were always glad when I 
raved about my dear puss or my flowers. You never said 
I was excited then, and now of course you put me down 
as a fanatic. Ah well, I used to do the same thing my- 
self ! But I am sorry you’re not pleased about it. Yoii 
have so often complained of my frivolity before, that I 
thought you would like to know I am going to take things 
more seriously now. Don’t you believe in me at all?” 


A Changed Life 237 

Mrs. Hutton put up her gold pince-neZy and criticized her 
visitor from head to foot. 

** I shall be away six months/’ she said drily; I will 
tell you whether I believe in you seven months hence.” 

‘‘That is if you are alive,” put in Miss Montague. 
“Since my little maid’s death every life seems to me to 
be trembling in the balance. Why, you might go to sleep 
any night, and never wake up in this world any more ! ” 

Mrs. Hutton rose to her feet. 

“I am going for my usual drive,” she said ; “if you 
like to come with me do, if not I must ask you to excuse 
me.” 

“I am afraid I must get home. I went to see that 
family outside your lodge gates to-day. Did you know 
one of the boys was a cripple ? I quite enjoyed my talk 
with him.” 

“ Ah well,” said the old lady, sagely nodding her head ; 
“ if you keep on visiting the poor I shall believe in you; 
but don’t think every one has to go through the same ex- 
perience as yours, and don’t think it necessary to remind 
every one you come across of their deathbed.” 

The third person to whom Miss Montague spoke 
about the change in herself was Mr. Long. She met 
him in the street and invited him to tea with her, 
stopping his hesitating excuses by saying, “Now don’t 
be afraid I am going to be rude. The past is past, and I 
hope you will forget it. I really want to tell you some- 
thing, that as my pastor you ought to know.” 

She led the unwilling young man to her house, and 
after giving him a very dainty tea, plunged at once into 
her subject. 

“To begin with,” she said, “ I will take a district in 


238 On the Edge of a Moor 

Ashampton. Now don’t you wonder what has made me 
change my mind? It is not love for the poor, I am 
afraid, or for the dirt and misery that I shall find, but 
the fact is I am a changed woman — I am converted. Ah, 
I thought you would open your eyes. It is true, and 
I cannot tell you how happy I am. It is all the dif- 
ference between existence and life. Ah, why did you 
not tell me about these things before ? If you are a real 
Christian, how can you keep the blessedness of such a life 
so in the background ? But I am not going to reproach 
you. I am learning a lot of things, and one of them I 
hope is, to have more sympathy and charity toward my 
fellow creatures.” 

Mr. Long certainly was very astonished at these words, 
but all he said was, I am glad that you are — that you 
see things differently. We shall be very thankful to 
have your help in the parish.” 

Well,” said Miss Montague, ** I must say you take my 
news very coolly. Aren’t you delighted? You ought to 
be. Do you think I am pretending? Do you realize 
what it is to a poor restless frivolous soul to be suddenly 
linked on to Christ Himself, and be the recipient of all 
His loving care and the blessings He bestows ? Can you 
imagine what it is to me, who have all my life dreaded 
death with an unspeakable dread, to be able to look for- 
ward and even long for it, having the assurance that it 
will be but a step into heaven — ^ for ever with the 
Lord ’ ? Does this sound strange and meaningless to 
you ? I tell you what, Mr. Long ; if you have not ex- 
perienced this full life, don’t you rest till you get it, and 
you will find then that you have a burning desire to pass 
it on. I believe there are a great many who stop halfway. 


A Changed Life 


239 


and are content to follow ^ afar off.’ I don’t want to be 
one of those. Pray that I may be kept close to the Lord, 
for I am but a beginner. Only I do long that others 
should experience the same enjoyment and rest that I am 
doing.” 

Mr. Long looked uncomfortable; he began to talk 
about parish matters, and then took his leave. 

But Miss Montague’s straightforward words made a 
great impression upon him, and as he watched her altered 
life, he began to wonder if his own life was as fruitful as it 
ought to be. Things wore a different aspect now to him, 
for hours at night did he pore over his Bible. As time 
went on, his sermons seemed to gain in power and earnest- 
ness, and he gradually came to realize the joy and liberty 
in the Lord’s service as he never had done before. He 
was very quiet about it, but the poor whom he visited soon 
felt the difference in his tone, and learned from him, for 
the first time, lessons of a Saviour’s love, and of His sav- 
ing and helping power. 

One afternoon he met Miss Montague coming out of a 
house where a sick lad was dying. They walked down 
the street together, but as they parted he said hesitatingly, 
whilst a flush came to his sallow cheek, — 

** Miss Montague, I have wanted to thank you for a long 
time for the few words you said to me some time ago. 
They were the means of opening my eyes to a great deal. 
I think I was following ^ afar off,’ and I realize now, as I 
never have before, the joy of a closer walk with our Mas- 
ter.” 

Tears came into Miss Montague’s eyes, which she tried 
in vain to conceal. She grasped his hand. 

** Mr. Long, it is good of you to say this to me, but oh, 


240 


On the Edge of a Moor 


how glad I am ! And let me tell you what a refreshment 
and comfort your sermons have been lately. I have led 
such a dreadfully selfish, idle life myself, that I wonder I 
dared say a word to you; I always feel so condemned 
when I think of my past.*^ 

We will work and help each other now,** rejoined the 
young man. 

And from that day he and Miss Montague were staunch 
friends. 


CHAPTER XXII 


FELLOW LABORERS 

Time went on very quietly with Rhoda now. Another 
winter came and went, another spring with its lessons of 
hope and promise. Her work widened, and she had 
many of the people round in her heart and prayers. Be- 
fore another year had passed both Ned Evans and his sis- 
ter were added to the little number of those who by their 
changed lives gave witness to the saving power of grace 
in their souls. Miss Frith's lodger died, but the little 
girl had so won her affections that, with the consent of 
some of her distant relatives, she adopted her, and the 
child did much toward banishing the shade of gloom that 
even now at times gathered on the brow of the lonely 
woman. 

Rhoda's life was a busy one, but a happy one. She 
herself was gaining experience in the work that was so 
dear to her heart, and was learning that sowing the seed 
was sometimes a long process, and that reaping did not 
always immediately follow. She had her times of depres- 
sion and disappointment; some, about whom she was 
most hopeful, grew cold and fell back to their old life 
again ; but others stepped in and filled the ranks, and the 
work, though slow, did not flag. 

She had several visits from her brothers from time to 
time, and even the most fastidious of them were fain to 
acknowledge that she was both comfortable and happy in 
her small domain. 

i6 


(241) 


242 On the Edge of a Moor 

Mr. Long now helped her much by coming up and 
taking the Sunday afternoon service very frequently, and 
he told her it was a most enjoyable time to him. Toward 
the end of the second summer of her stay there, Howard 
came down for a longer visit than usual, and a week after 
he had arrived, Mr. Rokeby returned home. Rhoda was 
taking a walk with her brother across the moor when they 
met him. He seemed to her to have a graver, softened 
look on his face as he greeted her, but having heard of 
the death of his sister abroad, she attributed it to that, 
and introduced him to her brother, feeling sure that they 
would like each other. 

She was not disappointed, for Howard brightened up, 
and confided to her after Mr. Rokeby had left them that 
he should enjoy a little shooting with him, and should 
certainly avail himself of his invitation to go over to 
Rokeby Court. And for the next week or two they saw 
a great deal of Mr. Rokeby. He came to dine with 
them, and would often drop in about tea-time in the 
afternoon ; but Rhoda seemed to elude all tetes-d-tetes 
with him, and was only her free happy self when joining 
in the general conversation. 

It was a lovely September afternoon. Rhoda was 
standing at her gate, looking over the glowing landscape 
in front of her, and when she heard a man’s footstep ap- 
proaching she looked up with a bright smile expecting to 
see her brother, who had gone down to Ashampton a 
couple hours before. 

But it was Mr. Rokeby. 

Are you disappointed to see me ? ” he asked with a 
smile. Is your brother in? ” 

** No, but he will be back soon. Do come in and wait.” 


Fellow Laborers 


243 


She led the way into the house and he followed, his 
eyes watching her every movement. 

** There are a good many changes in the neighbor- 
hood,^^ he remarked presently. have always been 

meaning to ask you after your Sunday service. It is still 
going on, I suppose? I thought of coming over to it 
next Sunday, if I may.” 

‘^Mr. Long will be very glad to see you,” Rhoda an- 
swered simply. ** 1 hope he will be taking it then.” 

** That is one of the changes I am marvelling at. What 
has stirred up Mr. Long to such activity? Do you work 
under him now ? ” 

Rhoda laughed. ** I do not feel I do,” she said, ** but 
it is very pleasant to have his hearty sympathy and co- 
operation in all my work here. I sometimes wonder if I 
ought to be moving on to some other place that is in more 
need of workers.” 

Mr. Rokeby got up from his seat, and stood looking 
out of the window facing the setting sun, and for a mo- 
ment there was silence, then suddenly he turned round 
and came to her side. Looking down upon her he said 
very quietly, but with a slight tremor in his tone, — 

‘^May I tell you of some one who is in sore need of 
you ? Will you listen to his case? ” 

A distressed look came into Rhoda’s eyes, and a hot 
flush rose to her cheeks. 

** Perhaps,” she said very gently, it would be better 
for both of us if you did not.” 

‘‘I think I must be heard. I will not take my dis- 
missal so easily. I know what you feel — that I am not in 
sympathy with your views, and that therefore we would 
not suit each other. I should have spoken two years ago 


244 On the Edge of a Moor 

if it had not been for this. I felt it would be an insur- 
mountable obstacle in the way. I knew from what I had 
seen of you what your answer would be, and so I went 
abroad. I could never pretend to be what I was not, and 
I determined not to speak to you till my interests were the 
same as yours. I have been blindly groping my way for 
years toward the light. Do you remember the last Sun- 
day before I went away ? I shall never forget that little 
service in the Tents* kitchen. Honestly I confess I went 
there because I wanted to have another sight of you — to 
hear your voice once again ; but I came away with an- 
other voice in my ears, and it was the commencement of 
the scales dropping from my eyes, and the light entering 
my soul. I will not tell you at present all the phases I 
went through, but I can assure you now that your Master 
is mine, and His work will be my chief delight. If we 
are to live as strangers, I can still thank God He ever 
brought you into this neighborhood, because it was the 
reality of your religion that first impressed me. But if — 
oh, Rhoda, can you come to me, and let us work together 
for Him ? There is such a wide sphere for you over my 
part of the moor, so many that you will be able to reach. 
Dare I hope for your love? will you give yourself to 
me? ** 

He had taken her hands in his, and was bending over 
her with a world of love and longing in his clear frank 
eyes. But Rhoda was speechless ; she felt she could not 
send this suitor away as she had many others, and her 
heart was in a tumult. 

He waited, and at last she looked up. 

meant to live my life alone,** she said a little un- 
steadily, ‘‘but I do not think that now — I can.** 


Fellow Laborers 


245 


That was enough. His arms were round her, and then 
a little later, drawing her to the open window, and looking 
out upon the golden sky and purple moor, he softly ut- 
tered these words, — 

‘‘O God, give us Thy blessing, and make Thyself in- 
creasingly precious to both of us.*' 

And now for one more look at Rhoda before we leave 
her. Her work is not finished, perhaps even a fuller 
sphere is awaiting her, and this thought is filling her 
heart as she stands on the steps of Rokeby Court one 
lovely spring morning in May. 

Her marriage had taken place at her uncle's house in 
London, and six out of her seven brothers had been 
present at it. She was thankful that her choice was so 
thoroughly appreciated, that not a dissentient voice was 
heard amongst them. Indeed, the general fooling was, as 
Edgar informed her, that of relief that she was going to 
‘‘ return to a civilized life." 

She went abroad with her husband for six weeks, and 
came to her new home the beginning of May. 

Hannah was established there as housekeeper, and met 
her young mistress with a shining face. 

And now, on the first morning after her arrival, Rhoda 
stands looking down the avenue of scented limes away to 
the distant moors, and her eyes grow moist with feeling as 
her thoughts are raised heavenward. 

A hand is quietly laid on her shoulder, and turning she 
meets her husband's inquiring gaze. 

‘‘ I was thinking," she said, as she linked her arm in 
his, ‘'what a field there is before us on this side of the 
moor; and I was wondering how soon we could com- 
mence work." 


246 


On the Edge of a Moor 


He laughed. 

‘'You are indefatigable. Six weeks’ holiday is quite 
enough for you, I persume. Well, I am ready. I am not 
afraid I shall lose my wife if I leave her free to follow the 
desires of her heart, for we will work together, Rhoda. I 
have been idle too long.” 

Then after a pause he said, with a sparkle in his eyes, 
"And now that we are going to settle down as man and 
wife, may I ask which is to be the ruling spirit ? I re- 
member the time when I doubted the probability of your 
ever giving way to the will of another. You have been so 
accustomed to manage your own life, that it may seem 
strange to have another who has the right to guide you at 
times. What are your views on the subject ? ” 

" I don’t think there will be friction between us,” said 
Rhoda, her eyes leaving the distant scene and dwelling 
on her husband’s face. " Where there is love and confi- 
dence there can be no question of one ruling the other.” 
Then as one of the flashing smiles her husband liked so 
much to see crossed her face, she added, " I have promised 
to obey you, so must do so. I know you will not abuse 
your power.” 

" If we are both led by the same Guide we shall walk 
in the same path,” her husband observed thoughtfully; 
" but there are times when I realize I am a long way be- 
hind you.” 

" Ah no ! We have only been called at different times 
into God’s vineyard. Do you know the one little verse 
that has been in my mind so much lately, and which 
seems to comfort and cheer me so, when I think of the 
vast amount of work to be done, and so few comparatively 
to do it ? ' For we are laborers together with God.’ 


Fellow Laborers 


247 


Working in a cause that cannot fail, and in which no 
labor will be lost. * ^ 

There was a moment’s silence, then the resolute man’s 
voice added very solemnly, — 

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, un- 
moveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, for- 
asmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the 
Lord.” 


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